Back To The Enchanted Forest
by OneMagician
Summary: AU - This story sets in after the winter finale of season 3 and takes us down a different path. The Dark One finds himself back in the Enchanted Forest, and he discovers that nothing is as it was. Regina's new curse didn't work the way they had anticipated, and ogres and wolves are scouring the lands. Belle finds out she is pregnant, and a long winter sets in...
1. Home

_**I have to admit that, unfortunately, I don't own anything OUAT here. If I did, season 3 would have gone in this direction after the mid-season finale, which prompted me to start writing:**_

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1. Home

A light whispered through the tall trees, moving the leaves, announcing Rumpelstiltskin's arrival in the eerie hush of the Enchanted Forest just after his family had watched him die in a place farther away than he would ever travel again. This world was much different to the one he had just left behind, but also very much different from the place he'd known as home before the curse had been cast. There were not many living creatures left in this part of the land; death and destruction brought about by the ogres and timbre wolves_ she _commanded had left its marks everywhere, had changed everything and deeply scarred these woods, but he was unaware of _her_ presence as yet, while he lay belly down in the grass with his heart thumping in his throat and his head screaming with pain. He tried to push himself up on his elbows and knees and looked about the little clearing, dazed and sick to his stomach, and he felt the unnatural silence all around.

He was still beyond questioning just why he was back in this place; all he knew when he groped at his chest was that he had unexpectedly, and unfortunately, survived. The lot of it. He was unhurt, although he'd thrust the Dark One's dagger into his own heart right up to the hilt. The only thought that would come to his mind on that was that an exceptionally long lifetime of searching and ultimately finding, only to lose, grieve and mourn, and lose again was finally over nonetheless. More than a lifetime of reality and illusion, magic and Destiny… and _still_ he wasn't dead, as he should have been; he was back in the Enchanted Forest, and there was a reason for this. There had to be, even if he didn't really feel like finding out just yet.

There was a strange light-heartedness he hadn't felt in… forever. _That_, he did question and wonder at when it engulfed him. He held his breath for a moment and let it wash over him. No more looking, no more finding, no more counting odds. It was over and done with – _he_ was over and done with, and maybe he could learn to accept that now, because he was here _alone_.

He believed for certain that he'd finally lost _everything _he'd ever had to lose; there was _nothing_ left, and he wasn't _ever_ getting any of what he'd held dear back. All magic had its price, and he had freely paid it. Destiny had had its way, at long last. Having come to this conclusion sometime after he'd emptied the contents of his stomach into the dirt had something surprisingly relieving about it. A brief ludicrous smile flitted across his face before something more familiar took a hold of him and started to pound the sides of his skull as he lay on his back: anger.

Anger was the one thing that still remained, because it was a part of his very existence. The spinner had known it all too well, but he'd been able to control it to an extent, while the Dark One had channeled his magic through it and let it rule him for centuries. The man he was now, or at least _had been_ for the last thirty years, knew it to be pointless in the end, and in this situation in particular, and so the sadness he'd been almost expecting followed. He'd been pushing sadness away for most of his three hundred years, thus he had practice at repressing it. The one thing he just couldn't quite work his way through while he was watching the clouds pass overhead though, was the overwhelming weariness he felt when the sorrow was dealt with and back in its proper place below the surface. He wasn't familiar with this kind of exhaustion because he'd never felt so much as tired since he'd become the Dark One.

Time had taken no toll on his body that had, at 35, already had the look of a man in his fifties, long before he'd been to Storybrooke and back. Years of hard physical work, malnourishment and illness, deprivation, war, loss, disappointment and fear left most men old at a young age where he came from, and the spinner had been no exception. His first murder had turned him into a monster that fed the nightmares of every child who'd ever heard the name Rumpelstiltskin, but he had been a monster that never aged and never tired afterwards. He'd always considered this a fitting price to pay – never being able to get away from his own deeds or thoughts, staying suspended in time with himself while everyone he knew always moved on at some stage or other.

Yes, he was back in his old world alright, he thought, rolling over on his side and feeling the damp ground beneath him seep through the fabric of his clothing. Oddly enough, when he consciously looked at his hands, he was astonished by the fact that they were still the same _human flesh_ color they had been when he was in Storybrooke. Being back to the place that had created the Dark One, he hadn't anticipated this, since having returned here for whatever purpose Destiny held for him, by all rights, he should have become that same monster again. The grey and golden flecked skin and wiry shimmering hair weren't what defined him, but he assumed that he still was what he had been for centuries.

His appearance was seemingly human, still Gabriel Gold, and yet, in his beating, unscathed, blackened heart, he could feel that he was anything _but human_ when he cautiously began feeling around in his mind for his magic and the emotions necessary to tap into it. All there, he discovered without much effort, and as long as he could still muster the kind of burning rage he needed to fuel his kind of magic, he was not a man: _he was the Dark One_.

No time like the present to put that theory to the test, he thought, and dragged himself to his feet. Concentrating on his right hand and raising it slightly, he summoned his anger and began building his rage by picturing the man that had forced him to leave his wife and his son, and then thought _fire_. Pure and simple, deadly and effective.

A fireball lit up in his hand, and he stared at it for a moment. It had something oddly comforting because it testified to his power beyond a doubt. He took his time in relishing the feel of it as its flaming body rotated slowly on his palm. It was perfectly shaped and lethal, feeding on oxygen and fury, and he quietly watched its flames licking at the airstream that was bending around his presence for some time. It was hell waiting to be unleashed, he thought, and tingling sensations rippled through him.

Then, a Brimstone butterfly danced past him on the breeze, and he had a flash of Belle's face. Sadness overcame him again, tugging at him painfully. He tried to command it to leave him be, but he couldn't get her off his mind, and the image of her beside his son in the street at the moment of his death lingered in his thoughts, haunting him, torturing his soul.

The fire died without so much as a wisp of smoke. He gave himself a few seconds, then gathered all his hate and allowed for the anger once more, deciding he had more than a right to it. He took pleasure in its searing nature and reveled in the awareness that whatever he did with himself now, it was his choice alone, because _he was alone_. He used it to access and control his skills, freeing them of the baggage he'd collected and the encumbrances of his human counterparts – the spinner, Rumpelstiltskin, and the pawnbroker, Gabriel Gold.

The Dark One regained himself, and swiftly conjured another white-hot fireball in each hand, and each on its own was by far more impressive than the first one he'd summoned. There was a vicious sneer on his lips when he lifted and effortlessly flung them at a group of trees fifty yards away, lighting up the entire forest with a burst of energy that shook the earth. Then, he drew a deep breath of air, and laughed. The sound of his booming voice filled the little clearing and the grove beyond, sending shudders through the souls of what few beings there were left to hear. Eventually though, his laughter turned to screams of pain and rage as he went to his knees once again with the sheer force of his burden, and this was even more frightening, sending flocks of startled birds into the sky.

_Home_, the sorcerer thought, when his breathing had calmed and he could think straight again, and he picked up the dagger from the soft moss at his knees. _Home, but not by magic_. The one thing he knew to be forever on his side was time. Now more than ever. There was nothing to find, nothing to hope for, no more fear of missing the one deal he would have to make, the one bargain that would erase his mistakes and redeem him. He would _walk_.

There _was_ no redemption for him, he realized, standing. No forgiveness, and no breaking his curse if he was still the Cursed One after all he'd lost and given. He was damned to be apart from the people he'd loved, damned to be apart from Belle, because although he did _look_ human here now, his magic still worked on the same grounding as it always had, and he was the same contemptible, twisted existence on the inside. His chance at deliverance had either simply passed him by or blighted, and he hadn't managed to erase his wrongdoings because they'd been too manifold, or he wouldn't be here – _would he?_ No… he thought not; the fact that he was here without Baelfire and without Belle was probably the ultimate price of his magic, and as perverted as it would seem after all that had happened, he'd have no option but to live with that.

He slowly began walking, fastening the dagger to his belt underneath his cloak.

Two ogres wandered the woods nearby, lugging their feet and dragging their clubs through the thicket. They'd both felt and heard Rumpelstiltskin's arrival from miles away, but hadn't been in much of a hurry as they headed toward the tumult in the trees, so they missed him by minutes. They would search on at least for a while, they decided, and considered - as far as their restricted intellect would allow - what exactly they should report at the evening meeting with their comrades and chieftain. Eventually, they resolved to just forget to mention it, and languidly knocked over the charred remains of some of the incinerated tree trunks in passing.

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_******A.N. Some of you will notice that this story has been posted before. It was my first attempt at fan fiction, and it was pretty raw and unedited when I initially published it. I took it offline to put some work into it during the last weeks, and I think it's a bit more presentable on the whole now ;)**_

_**Thank you all your encouragement and for betaing this, my friend and Keeper Of All Those Keys: cynicsquest.**_


	2. Belle

_**Thank you everyone who favorited and is following this! cynicsquest and Twyla Mercedes: I appreciate your kind reviews! **_

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2. Belle

It had been raining for days now – freezing damp winter nights out in the open, dark grey skies during the day. It was enough to take the last spark of hope from her heart. Belle rarely spoke and hardly ate. She looked ill, and Red was worried, though no one else seemed to notice.

Red had been thankful for the small mercy of being next to invisible herself to most people for the longest part of her childhood and youth. The crimson cloak she wore not only concealed the wolf, but also the woman the girl had grown into nonetheless, and even though she was no longer the girl who'd killed her true love on a full moon night, it was a this that she would always see when she looked at herself in the mirror. Her cursed identity, Ruby, had hungered for attention, but Red liked to blend into the background, and she'd learned to do so extremely well.

Her friend, on the other hand, had been very much in the spotlight for most of her life before she'd bargained herself away to Rumpelstiltskin, beautiful and loved by all. But beauty was vulnerable, and it faded so quickly in the eyes of the beholder… After Belle had sacrificed her own freedom and consented to go with the Dark One in exchange for peace and prosperity for her father's kingdom, she had been at the center of every kind of mean gossip and nasty hearsay. She'd been treated like a leper and avoided by most, even and _especially_ later in Storybrooke. No one had been able to grasp how Belle could have mustered the courage to go with the imp (_there had to be something seriously wrong with that girl!_), and stayed with him of her own free will after he had released her from their agreement (_the devil's whore, that one!_). Everyone had been glad that the deal had been struck, and secretly, most were just relieved that the price of the Dark One's magic had not been theirs to pay. Her father had given her away with but a meager, weak-hearted objection, and her fiancée had hardly protested. Sure, Sir Gaston de Something-Or-Other had gone to look for her later, but never returned to Avonlea. It was unclear what had happened to him, but most people thought that he had been killed by the beast. Red thought that they were probably right.

How Belle could have feelings for Rumpelstiltskin or even his human counterpart, Gabriel Gold, Red would never understand; they'd both been cold-blooded monsters. Although Red thought of herself as a monster of sorts, a creature most likely quite unfit to be loved, she had always feared the Dark One and the inconceivable powerful hold he seemed to have on Belle. Simply respecting her friend's perceptions had taken some restraint on her behalf. And yet… she hoped that someday, someone would show the monster that dwelled within her – the wolf inside the women, and the woman inside the wolf – that same kind of pure-spirited compassion. Didn't so many people have secrets of their own? Didn't everyone deserve to be loved?

Back in Storybrooke, she'd been convinced that Belle could have done much better than Gold, if only she had been able to stay away from the man. Sooner or later, people might have overlooked her association with the pawnbroker, and after a while, perhaps, there might even have been some handsome young man to whom Belle's past would not have mattered. He'd have loved her without prejudice, and she'd have forgotten about the Dark One eventually.

Red watched apprehensively as Belle left the campsite shelter again, wandering towards the river bank. The slim brunette followed her friend unnoticed and stopped some way back from the cobble shore when Belle did. The young woman just stood there, looking into the treacherous, black waters, and Red couldn't help but be afraid for her. The downpours of these last days had steadily swollen the otherwise lazy, docile stream, turning it into a raging torrent with hazardous rapids. Whatever her sentiments towards Gold had been, Red knew her friend was mourning his loss and felt sorry for her, hoping that she wouldn't do anything stupid.

They had been back in the forest and going round in circles for more than three weeks now, dodging ogres and barely armed against the vicious attacks of the timbre wolves that were straying in the area. Ever more small groups had broken away to brave it on their own. They'd meet up with them again occasionally, whatever direction they'd taken, and even Red and Granny had to admit that they were thoroughly _lost_. It was as though some magic spell designed to confuse them was blocking their sense of direction and preventing them from finding a way out of these woods. That in itself was enough to wear anyone down, never mind a sensitive soul grieving a loss such as Belle's.

Belle never complained, never argued, and never offered suggestions, as most of the others did, and Red had the gnawing feeling that she, who had always been such an optimistic nature, had given up. She didn't seem to care about anything much anymore; she did her chores and kept her watches like everyone, but disappeared from sight as soon as she thought that nobody was looking. Regina had remarked on that at some stage, but since the Evil Queen had abandoned them soon after that, and everyone was busy enough with their own troubles, no one had paid much attention to her. Charming, Snow and even Bae were secretly at their wit's end, but none of them ever tired of trying to encourage the group or telling them not to despair… while all the while, the former Lady of Avonlea did. Not bothered by the danger of going off on her own, she'd just sit by the river they were sticking to and stare into the water for hours, much like she was doing today.

Finally, Red decided to join Belle down by the grey gushing waters for a while rather than leave her to her thoughts. Belle had been alone far too much and far too long in her life, and this couldn't be doing her good on the whole right now. Trying not to startle the petite woman, she came up behind her and hunkered down on the wet ground next to her, pulling at her soaking hood in trying to keep the rain off her face.

"You're going to catch your death, you know," she said softly, and was met with silence.

She wiped at her eyes and nose with the pads of her fingers and drew a deep breath. "I can imagine how you must be feeling," she mumbled, thinking that she wasn't exaggerating, "but you have to talk to someone. You _need_ to talk to someone, honey."

"I'm alright," Belle lied, casting her a sideways glance, and faked a smile.

"Yeah, right," Red snorted, "That's why you're here all alone."

Just then, the icy wind freshened up, pelting rain into their faces, and Red sat bolt upright. Her wolf's perceptions awoke and kicked in as she took in a new layer on the familiar scent that identified Belle to her. She studied her friend intently.

"There's something else, isn't there?" she inquired hesitanty, suddenly clear on her friend's predicament. She was inexplicably touched and deeply concerned.

Belle swallowed hard and feigned another smile. "It's nothing," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, and she trained her eyes on the water again. "Please, just leave me here for another minute. Don't be worried or angry at me. I just need some time. Please."

Red was sure she wasn't mistaken, and she guessed that Belle knew full well she was pregnant. It was obvious that she wasn't dealing with it, but how could she even begin to, with things as they were? No roof over their heads with winter on its way, no regular meals, not even sufficiently warm clothing or a safe, dry bed for the restless nights they spent sleeping only a few hours at a time in shifts around their guard-duties. Suddenly, she thought that she'd been wrong in what she'd said to Belle; she could _not_ well imagine what must be going through her head at this moment, and she wouldn't have traded places with her.

Reluctantly, the brunette rose to her feet and was just about to leave when the other woman implored her, "Please don't talk to anyone about me… about this."

She fixed her gaze to Belle's and understood… The looks, the talk, and above all, the pity would be too much to handle all at once. She wouldn't have wanted this spread out for everyone to know if this had been her, but she thought that it would perhaps be wise to let at least a few of her closest friends in on her secret so they could start helping her out with some of the practical things that would soon prove challenging to the expectant mother. Belle would definitely need more rest for one thing, and better food for another. Placing one hand on her shoulder and squeezing it lightly, Red nodded, though, and decided not to argue.

After she was sure Red was gone, Belle finally doubled over and cried. The pounding rain mercifully seemed to swallow the sound of her sobs so that she was sure no one would hear them. This was the first time she had allowed herself to weep, always thinking that she didn't have the right to. Not really. Bae had lost his father, too, and he wasn't falling apart. He couldn't look her in the eyes since they had returned, though, and she'd been brooding about that. Maybe he disliked her for some reason, and it was better to keep away.

She was aware of the fact that she was absolutely on her own, as she had been for more than 28 years, only she wasn't locked up in a sterile white room; she was walking round in circles in the Impervious Forest at the beginning of a winter that would be long and hard on all of them. Rumple was gone, and the feeling of complete emptiness was so profound within her that she could hardly breathe anymore. She hadn't seen this coming at all, even though she had accepted that life was never what it seemed and always full of the unexpected, especially where Rumple was concerned. She had always hoped that there was a right for every wrong, and light at the end of every darkness, but now… her hope was gone.

She remembered her last night in Storybrooke like it had been yesterday instead of weeks ago, because it was the most treasured, precious memory of any that she possessed. Rumple had been back, and she had been so very happy for him having found not only Henry, but also Bae. They had thought Bae was dead, and it seemed like a miracle when he'd gotten off the Jolly Roger. That day, she had found Rumple to have an inner peace she'd never dared to hope for. He'd been so hounded for every second she had known him in the past, so tense and controlling, afraid to let down his guard for a single moment. But that day had undoubtedly been one of the happiest of his life – and of hers. She had loved to see him that way, loved to believe that he could remain so, loved to believe in a future for them.

They'd left the others to their reunions on the docks, Rumple never having found a single mention in all the exited chatter and recounts of their adventure, unlike Regina, for reasons she would never fathom. No one had noticed their leaving. Bae had cheerfully gone with the others, glad to be back with Emma and Henry, and Rumple hadn't lost a word over it. She'd walked to the shop with him, contentedly holding his hand in her own. He'd wanted a change of clothes, and she'd waited for him trade the leathers he was wearing for the Storybrooke attire he'd become accustomed to in the other world, and he'd kissed her when she'd helped him with his tie.

She could well recall the deep, grateful appreciation she'd felt at the loving touch of his lips. He'd held her, wrapped his arms around her tenderly and made her feel whole again. She'd felt her importance to him, as well as his longing for her, and her desire for him had overwhelmed her. There had been a burning ache deep inside her as she'd molded her body to his, feeling him respond to her.

They'd gone to her apartment above the library and she had warmed a meal for them, talking and listening to each other with an astounding openness and a straight-forward honesty they'd never shared before. They had done the dishes with her washing and him drying, and sat on her sofa with a glass of wine until it had gotten very late. Apologizing somewhat awkwardly when he'd realized, Rumple had finally gone home, much to her regret. She hadn't wanted him to, but he'd insisted on leaving, as he always did, saying that they'd have all the time in the world, and that they'd see each other tomorrow.

_All the time in the world… how wrong he'd been_, she thought.

She'd tossed and turned that night, and sometime after one o'clock, she'd thrown back the covers and given up on sleep. After she'd gotten dressed, she'd walked through the lonely streets of Storybrooke to his house in the rain. He hadn't been to bed at all yet; she saw that the lights were on all over the salmon-colored Victorian, as though he'd been afraid of the dark. He'd merely taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, she'd noted when he opened the door on her first knock. The look he'd given her had been one of mild surprise, yet he hadn't said a word and just stared at her. When he'd finally stepped aside to let her in, she hadn't walked past him; she'd walked right into him and pressed her mouth to his passionately, cupping his face in her hands and running her fingers through his hair. She remembered the taste of him; sweet wine and something earthy, taking in his musky scent, the smell of his cologne and a faint hint of the leather coat and pants he'd been wearing all the last days. There was fire and heartbreak in the way he reacted to her, crushing her to him desperately and pulling her along as he backed into the hallway.

"You shouldn't be here…" he'd said breathlessly, somewhat reluctantly releasing her and gently pushing her away so he could look at her. He couldn't really _believe_ what he was saying, she'd thought then, but decisively stood her ground. She'd turned to close the door quietly behind her and faced back him, fixing her gaze to his intently.

"I want to be with you," she'd told him softly. She remembered the way her voice had trembled, and how awkward she'd felt.

"I've had twenty-eight years of being _without_ you," she'd continued nonetheless, "and that happened just because we were both too stupid and stubborn to take a chance."

She'd waited to see if he objected in any way, but he didn't. He just stood there quietly, so she tried to explain. "We've lost almost two years even after I was free and finally myself again, and then you were gone. I never know what terrible thing is going to happen tomorrow. All I know right now is that I'm not going to give away this night again in trade for some tomorrow that might never come."

Still, he said nothing, and she looked down at her feet, tormenting her lower lip anxiously. Had she gone too far? Not that she had anything to loose, she thought. She knew he wanted her, but he'd never said so or gone beyond kissing her.

"Belle, I'm so sorry…" he'd replied at last, reaching for her chin the way he sometimes did, as though she was a child and must be made to listen to him, but she'd shrugged off his hand. Hadn't he any idea what she was feeling? She'd probably ruined this and would have to live with it, but she would not have his pity.

"No," she whispered, turning back to the door and reaching for the handle. "No, _I'm _sorry. Rumple, I love you, and I just really wanted you to know that."

He'd grabbed her arm and stopped her before she could open the door, and he'd turned her to him, searching her face. She'd been on the verge of running out of the house, shamed, with her heart ablaze and thumping wildly in her throat. Wordlessly, he'd taken her hand and led her into his study, and she'd had no idea what to expect.

With a flick of his wrist, he swiftly opened a floorboard beside his desk, but she couldn't see inside the small nook it revealed as the panel slid back and he knelt down beside it to take out the small object it was built to conceal.

"I've had this for years," he'd stated calmly almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned the midnight-blue velvet box he was holding about in his hand, scrutinizing it. "I was never ready to give it to you, because I was afraid to. I was never free inside, and I was afraid you wouldn't want me. I felt sure it would be inappropriate. But… today…?"

She'd seen the spinner in his eyes then, the man plagued by his own uncertainties and insecurities, and it jolted something in her, something like a memory from a past life, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Still kneeling, he took her hand in his again and looked up at her.

"I wanted to ask you at a more fitting time," he said, "but no time ever seems fitting, and you're right; we never know what tomorrow is going to bring. So…"

He flipped open the box with the tip of his thumb and extracted a golden ring. It was made of thin golden threads, intricately woven together as if crafted by the finest goldsmith's hand – Rumples own, she knew, and smiled when he slipped it on her finger, tears of relief spilling over her cheeks. The precious band fit perfectly, and he dipped his head and briefly touched his lips to it.

"Belle, I will love you to the day I die," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I promise you that I will honor you and protect you, be at your side for as long as you'll have me, and I ask you now: will you have me?" The look in his eyes was that of a frightened child, and she could see the little boy afraid of rejection in his features, as she had time and time again, but only when they were alone. She knew he would never allow himself to show this side of him to anyone else. This was the man only she knew; the man behind the monster that everyone else saw when they looked at him. This was the man she had fallen in love with.

"Forever," she'd replied, and leaned in to him to kiss him deeply, reading his mind, wanting to forget every bad moment and pushing away every doubt. She was sure he had changed his ways. For his family, for her, and she knew why he had done the things that he had. She could even understand, to an extent, and she'd kept telling herself that this could work, wanting it to so badly – wanting _him_ so badly. She'd kept kissing him, until she'd made certain that he would believe she'd never walk out on him, never long to be anywhere else but with him, and he had taken her to his bed that night as his wife. There had been no ceremony, and no one to witness their vows, but they'd been sure that this was all they were ever going to get – the Dark One and the Lady of Avonlea. She remembered how he'd made love to her, and how complete she'd felt at the thought of having him in her life – at the thought of their _forever_.

Belle still sat by the riverside when the rain subsided. She wiped her face with her hands, revealing the thin band of woven gold, knowing that he had made the right choice the following day, done the right thing by all of them – _for_ all of them. But it was she who was afraid now. It was she who was scared to death, because he'd been the one to leave her, to dismiss their forever, in the end, and she would have to explain that choice to the child growing inside her someday.

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_**Next: the effectiveness of dark magic - and the price of it.**_


	3. The Price of Darkness

**_Thanks everybody who's now following this story - hope you're enjoying it! _**

**_Thank you for reviews and encouragement: cynicsquest, Twyla Mercedes and CJ Moliere. I'm totally shocked to find you're with me on this (again), and I love the feedback._**

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3. The Price of Darkness

Rumpelstiltskin found it difficult to keep his bearings. He'd known his way around these woods for the span of his long life like no other, but things had definitely changed here in every way. At first, he'd accounted his failing sense of direction to the fact that of all the places he could have ended up, this had to be the last one he'd expected to find himself. Hell, perhaps, or some vault in the earth, maybe, but he'd never have guessed that he would wind up back in the Enchanted Forest.

He'd had no idea what would happen to him or to his soul when he had plunged the dagger through his father's back and into his own chest, but he hadn't much cared where his last journey would take him once he'd made up his mind that this would be the only way to save the people he loved. In the course of the final seconds of the pawnbroker's life, he had briefly wondered if he'd simply disappear and cease to exist, but then he had thought it more probable that his travels through the centuries might end in the Netherworld. Both options would have been fitting and acceptable to him, so, ultimately, he had simply forgiven Peter, pressed his eyes shut and thought of the best place and time he'd ever been. Two things had come to mind: fleeting images of his childhood years in the spinsters' care, and brief impressions of being a young man at the beginning of his marriage to Milah.

He'd stood there on the main road just outside his shop, looking at Belle and Bae, and remembered how happy his son had been at his home on the edge of the small grove where he'd built their cabin; how happy that had made _him_. They'd lived in no more than a hovel with one room, really, a little way off from the handful of others that made up the village of his birth. Bae had often stood under the tall birch trees gazing up at the sky, watching squirrels bounce lightly from one branch to another, watching the leaves move in the breeze – just as he had when he'd been at that age himself. He could recall moments of sunlight seeping through the fabulously lush green foliage above him and leak down onto his skin, warming his cheeks and making the hair on the backs of his arms tingle.

Rumpelstiltskin remembered smelling the earthy scent of turf fires in the early mornings when he'd gone out to fetch water before his son had awoken, and the cool, soft moss beneath his bare feet late in the afternoons when his work was done. He'd take his boy and some fishing rods to the river, and they'd catch trout for their supper. Those had been the best days of his life, and he'd never been more content, except perhaps when he'd still believed that he was spinning for kings and queens when he was a child and learning the trade that would feed him later. His hands still knew the difference between good wool and the cheap material that machines in the World Without Magic produced from artificial fibers, and the spinner had always taken pride in how he'd made durable, quality yarns and cloths fit for farmers and milkmaids before he'd gone to war.

Peter Pan had died in his arms when the blade had gone through his shadow; of that, Rumpelstiltskin been certain. He'd felt Malcom's life-force fade and as he'd held him, and wherever his soul had been carried after his last breath had left him, the sorcerer was sure that he would never see his father again. None of them would, and that had been the point. The boy who'd refused to grow up and had been the Dark One's undoing was dead, and the man who'd abandoned his own child for the pieces of as dream was gone.

When the cold metal had penetrated his own chest and found its way into his heart, his last thought had been that _everything _was as it should be_, _and_ everyone _was_ where _they should be. He had been at peace with that and with himself.

Thus, the fact that he had somehow been returned to the Enchanted Forest was a complete mystery to him. He couldn't make sense of it; it seemed as though he'd fulfilled his destiny, and he'd gotten what he deserved – but why wasn't he _dead_? Why _this?_ He still looked like Gabriel Gold, the pawnbroker who had been his cursed identity, and he still had his magic.

Thinking as he walked, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Regina hadn't managed to keep her side of the deal and save Belle, Bae and the others from the new curse after all. Perhaps she'd failed, either for lack of skill, or for other reasons that were her own. He didn't trust her, never had… but even if she'd decided to bend fate to her own benefit once again, he had no way of finding out from where he was standing. There was simply nothing he could do for any of the people he cared about because he knew of no way back to the World Without Magic and didn't think he had the right to try. He could only hope that everyone was alright, and wish them – whatever they'd been to him on his way through time – a long and happy life in Storybrooke. With or without their Evil Queen.

Following the riverbank, he liked to imagine that his son would convince Emma to give him one more chance and be the kind of father to Henry that he had never been to Bae. Bae would spend time with his boy, teach him to fish, set traps and tell directions by observing his surroundings, to pitch a ball, and, in a few years, to drive a car. He'd be there for him when things were good, and he'd be at his side when they weren't. Henry would grow up knowing he was loved, and the both of them would do just fine.

And Belle… she was safe in Storybrooke, he told himself, at least that. She was stronger than she thought, and she was at liberty to live her life as she pleased. Maybe she would find the uncomplicated happiness he could never have given her. She would have children with a pleasant and decent soul of a man – half a dozen, if her devotion to life itself was anything to go by – and grow old unburdened and without his manner of inner darkness. She'd feel loved, and she'd never be alone again. He'd always needed her more than she had needed him; he was nothing but a demon, and she was beautiful inside and out. She deserved so much better than him. With him gone, she would be free to get that.

Rumple's lines of thought broke the further he ventured, and he became aware of the remarkable silence all around him again. He sensed _fear, _and it was notdue to his presence, for a change. He'd felt it before, just after he'd arrived, and it was making him nervous. The only sound was that of his own breathing and an ogre's gigantic footsteps shaking the ground somewhere in the brush half a mile or less away. He decided that caution was in order, but kept moving. Another bit on, he caught the distinct odor of decomposing flesh. The nauseating stench that lingered heavily in the air was accompanied by the telltale buzzing of hundreds of bluebottles. Something big had died or been killed, and it was close by; a stag or a horse, or even a unicorn, maybe. The forest never left anything to waste like this, so he was willing to bet on a killing, though a beast that hunted for food never left it's kill to rot, unless it was forced to.

His instincts told him that his march home might yet prove to become more challenging than he had at first thought. It didn't matter, though, and perhaps it was a good thing he'd opted to take the long way back to the Dark Castle and get a look at the land as it was now. He had the irritating feeling that Regina had overlooked some important features of the original curse he'd designed to work so perfectly and done a sloppy job with it. Her lust for vengeance had blinded her for details and the complexity of foresight, but then again, she'd never had much finesse and came with a tendency to miss the big picture. She'd never had an eye for patterns or irregularities in them where they occurred, but he had so sincerely hoped that she'd do better second time around.

It wasn't long before he found the source of the smell, and his stomach lurched at the sight of half a dozen black unicorns decaying in the undergrowth. They had been left as they'd been slaughtered; by the look of them, he assumed that this must have been some days ago, and by the vicious bite-wounds he found on their carcasses, he was thinking _wolves_. Unicorns weren't exactly on the menu of the kind of wolves that he'd been used to seeing in these parts, but the state of the cadavers he'd encountered suggested that these particular wolves were neither ordinary nor hungry. No wonder: They had to have been huge, and were probably quite well fed on the game he'd seen virtually no trace of hereabouts. A deer was much easier to cull than a unicorn, and perhaps these unlucky horned steeds had merely been butchered in a killing-frenzy… or for the sport of it.

Rumpelstiltskin disliked paths; he'd never been fond of the road much travelled, but after some more days of following the river, he would have welcomed seeing the vestiges of one somewhere. He still had no way of telling how far he was from the castle, but he realized that he wasn't really getting anywhere when he passed the site of the carnage for the second time. Dark, leaden clouds always hid the sun during the days he spent out in the open, sweeping heavy curtains of rain across the lands in short intervals and washing away his tracks. He was soaked to the skin most of the time and couldn't see the moon or the stars at night, and after several of those nights, freezing and in damp clothes, it started dawning on him that he was caught in a loop. There was some sort of magic at work here, conceived to confuse those wanting to leave this forest.

On the Jolly Roger, Bae had told him that he'd been free to move around in the Enchanted World as he pleased, and he'd even met people who'd been left behind by the original curse. That could either mean the loop he was in had been installed _after_ Bae had left and was all encompassing, or that it only applied to _this specific area_, and Bae had simply not been caught in it. Both were thinkable, but the latter seemed more probable, considering that Bae had been in another part of the forest at his castle. Regina had created a spell very much like this some time ago in a futile attempt to keep her stepdaughter close enough to be tracked by the huntsman… Remembering this made him wonder just who was to be kept close here, and more importantly, by _whom_? The other people Bae had stumbled upon, perhaps? Or _he himself_, in the end? _Someone_ had to have initiated this enchantment, and he was going to find out who.

Dawn was a long time coming on any early-winter morning in the Enchanted Forest, but he got out from under the rocky ledge on the precipice where he'd rested during the pitch black hours of night, and thought that a little of his own magic might come in handy now. He straightened and felt stiff, somehow. His body was reacting strangely since he'd returned, and he did his best to ignore it, but it was bothersome to be tired, to be sore and to feel… old.

All at once, the ground began to tremble and he lost his footing. He started slipping down the muddy slope towards the river. He tried to seize the branches and twigs he could grab on to as he fell, but couldn't get a proper hold of anything that would take his weight, and consequently gathered momentum before he started hitting tree-trunks – hard. A sickening snap and sharp pains told him that he'd broken his arm and probably several ribs when he finally came to a tumbling halt, winded and in plain sight of an ogre on the gravel bank.

As he scrambled to his feet somewhat too loudly and exceedingly ungracefully on the wet, slippery cobble underground, the monster immediately began to scour for the source of all that noise. Rumpelstiltskin found that he was bleeding from a wound to his brow. His head was spinning and he was battered and bruised. He didn't understand… His magic was still there, but he was really_ hurt_, and the ogre would pick up the scent of his blood any moment. _Blood…_ He couldn't remember the last time he'd bled. The spinner had bled in every which way and all over the Enchanted Forest throughout his pitiful human existence, but the Dark One certainly hadn't, so this was new... and it was _extremely_ unsettling.

It hit him like a smack in the face that he was possibly not immortal anymore. Immortals healed, but he wasn't healing.

He'd have to start watching himself, he thought, still dazed, when the hideous, gigantic fiend had sensed his whereabouts at last, screamed out and began thundering blindly towards him. He gathered his wits just in time to raise his good hand and freeze the creature in mid-leap, split seconds before it could crush him. He took a deep breath and sat down with a thump, feeling thoroughly thrashed. Incredulously pressing his fingers to his forehead, they came away crimson, and he was astonished at the amount of blood pouring down his face. It took him a moment to realize that he'd have to heal himself, because he would not simply 'mend', as he always had before he'd even known he was injured, so he pressed his broken arm to his chest using his good hand, and green light protruded from the bloody mess the fall had made of his arm, and the bones moved back into place. A few seconds later, the wound closed, and he moved on to the ribs, since they seemed to be obstructing his lungs and bothered him a lot more than the gash on his head did. He dealt with that last, touching it with both hands to stop the hemorrhaging and renew the broken skin.

He'd just moved back from where he'd been sitting when the ogre began to stir. This troubled him; no one and nothing he'd ever used a holding-spell on simply came back to life and started moving before he allowed it… he wasn't in control of this in the way he'd thought he would be. Was he in control of anything anymore?

Softly mumbling an enchantment to stall time as he walked around his adversary, the sorcerer leisurely positioned himself behind it before it could direct its aggressions towards him. He let the anger welling deep within him take over, his jaw clenched and eyes narrow with resolve as he felt the rage he used to channel his magic coursing through his veins. Relishing the elated feeling he got from accessing his powers in this way, he found that it was as thrilling and sublime as it had always been to know that he was lord over life and death here in his world. _Nothing and nobody was going mess with him and get away with it._

The ogre looked around in bewilderment, snorted and caused a small earthquake by shifting his weight, but it had no idea what was coming. A disdainful sneer stole across the Dark One's face, and he raised one hand, twisting his fingers into an iron fist around the ogre's heart simply by picturing the beating, twitching muscle within its chest cavity. Slowly, he began squeezing, imagining he was crushing the very essence of its existence out of it, savoring the sense of absolute supremacy he got from that. It was as exhilarating as he remembered it to be from his past life here, and it was _his choice _to deal out fate. There was _nothing_ _and nobody_ to keep him from doing what he was about to_._ He could have chosen to turn that ogre into a statue, or at least make a quick, merciful killing, but he didn't; he elected to vent all of the fury he'd pent up inside himself in the days since his return on the one unfortunate being that had dared to cross his path today, and… _it_ _felt good_.

Black sand began seeping through his fingers as the ogre crashed to the ground and withered away, turning to ashes that were presently carried off on the wind.

"At least you won't smell," the Dark One mumbled indignantly under his breath, and stood quietly looking at the small splotches of ogre-residue that remained clinging to the stones where the creature had fallen until the rain rinsed them away.

There was still a lot of his own blood on him, so he strode over to the waterside and hunkered down to clean it off. His eyes widened in shock when he held his hands out to wet them and saw that they were changing: a gleaming, sickly-grey film with sprinklings of gold was crawling over his skin, discoloring it and reclaiming his appearance. He held them up to his face for a moment in disbelief, staring at claw-tipped fingers before he groped at his cheeks and nose, and the now wiry curls of dark brown and golden hair on his head. He closed his eyes and drew his lips into a thin line. There was one thing that always remained a certainty, here and in any other world: All magic came with a price, and darkness was the price of doing business with Death.

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_**Next: Going Round In Circles... **_


	4. Going Round in Cirlces

_**Twyla Mercedes, cynicsquest, PartyintheTARDIS12: Thank you for your reviews! Appreciate the feedback. Thanks also to everybody who's following this!**_

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4. Going Round in Circles

They had started marking trees as they went, but the marks never remained where they had put them. Even deep notches in the bark of tall birches or oaks would be there one day and gone the next. Snow knew this, having realized long before Charming, but she'd kept it to herself for the time being, just to be sure she wasn't mistaken.

She was afraid to tell anyone what she thought. Most of the people they were travelling with were frightened enough as it was, There were families with children among them, and they were growing increasingly anxious because winter was now nearly upon them, and she didn't want to unsettle them any more than necessary. The colder it got, the more difficult it would be to hunt or find food, and the long, freezing nights were keeping them awake. It was getting to all of them, and they needed to have faith that they were strong enough to cope. They had to stick together, and if she and David could only keep them moving and halfway organized, she was sure that they would find a way to get out of these woods alive.

Packing up their campsite was a very quick and silent affair; they'd had plenty of practice during the last weeks. Since there were ogres and wolves everywhere, they couldn't afford to make much noise – their lives depended on a hundred small precautions they'd started to incorporate in their day-to-day actions. Ogres had a keen sense of hearing, although they were almost blind, and so they'd become used to talking in whispers and treading lightly. It was most difficult for the children to remember themselves, but even the youngest of them had learned fast. Wolves were a different matter – they would sense human presence and track them, so the group just had to be ready for them anytime.

Legend had it that Rumpelstiltskin had turned the troll-like giants to stone to end the Ogre-Wars and banished them to the Lost Mountains over three hundred years ago. Judging by the numbers of mature specimens they'd encountered so far, they must have changed back to flesh and blood sometime within the last decades, and they were more ferocious than ever. Snow had hoped that there would not be quite as many, but the forest was practically overrun. She sensed that there was something else even more intimidating about, though; as if the impending winter, and ogres and wolves weren't already sufficiently alarming. It was the whole, daunting scenario that was unfolding, and she had the feeling that there was dark magic involved. The monsters they were fighting off weren't here of their own accord – they seemed to be _looking for something, _which meant _someone _was controlling them. This was bigger than she'd imagined. Only a few months had passed since she had last been here with Emma and she'd killed the first of many ogres.

_Emma_… _Emma and Henry_… there wasn't a day she didn't think of her daughter and grandson, and it wasn't getting any easier. Sometimes she thought it would have been kinder if they had all forgotten, like Regina had said they would. But being here in this bewitched part of the forest, not getting anywhere and worrying about them constantly burdened her every day. She tried to push these thoughts away because, after all, her daughter and grandchild would never have to go to sleep out in the open, wondering if they would survive the next wolf-attack or die of exposure. She told herself that Emma and Henry were sheltered and warm in a world that had indoor plumbing and penicillin, where wild animals lived in zoos, supernatural creatures were myth, and their next meal came from the microwave. Emma was probably picking up her life where she had left off before Storybrooke – before things had started getting _unreal_ for her; she would be going to work in the mornings, doing her laundry and grocery-shopping, having a date on a Saturday night, and she would be happy. Henry was getting an education, going to a ballgame and hanging out with friends, just doing what boys his age did. That was their reality, and they were out of harm's way; they were _safe_, they were _alive_.

Bae had not been as lucky as she and David had. He'd lost his father; Rumple was dead, and they'd all been forced to watch. They had stood on the street and seen him go, of his own free will and taking his wretched father to hell right along with him. It had been an exit worthy of the man she had feared, loathed, needed, distrusted and relied on, respected and tried to understand and come to terms with all in the space of one month… but he was gone, and she couldn't help but feel that things would be very different if he was here with them today. He would have thought of something, she was convinced, and they wouldn't be in the mess they were in. Bae was probably missing him very much, she assumed. They'd only just had the chance to settle their differences and, deep down, he knew just how much he'd been loved – Snow asked herself if Emma did.

Bae had lived in the Enchanted Forest long before she had been born, so she'd never known the Dark One's son, but she understood how Emma could have fallen in love with the young, old man. Considerate and apt to voice his thoughts sentiently, he had a pleasant smile that brightened his warm chocolate-colored eyes, and he always had a friendly or encouraging word for others. He was intelligent and skilled at many things she never would have suspected; he was clever at making arrow heads from bone or flint, and he was a good fisher and hunter. He was also witty, and he could tell stories like no one else in their group. He'd fascinate the children with his tales of their old world; the Ogre-Wars, and an evil imp who'd once had a good and giving heart. Sometimes she could see a flicker of his father in his intense brown eyes, especially when he stubbornly debated on something or other with David and her; a different path to take, a more suitable campsite to secure, a hunting party to organize, or where best to set their traps. And sometimes, but only sometimes, there was hint darkness about him – a small portion of secretiveness and the slightest whiff of evasiveness when it came to the question of how he'd filled the years between Neverland and Boston.

It was this hint that told her he _knew full well _when he walked up to her casually, fastening his bow to his back and pulling his hood snugly around his head. He took a knife from his belt and pointed around with it, flourishing the blade comically at several of the tall, old trees nearby.

"Which of them would you like re-marked today, m'lady?" he winked, mocking a bow worthy of Rumpelstiltskin himself as he grinned at her, and her brow furrowed with anxiety that someone would hear.

"Keep it down, please," she hissed. "We'll talk about this when we're out of earshot…" Turning away from him, she habitually scanned the near area as she called to her husband.

Charming had been talking to Red, whose face was fraught with concern. She couldn't hear what they were saying from where she was, so she decided to join them, leaving Bae to assault the bark of an old pine tree and cut some deep notches that would be gone tomorrow.

"What's wrong?" she inquired as she closed the gap between them, and Red briefly looked up at her, but left without a word, seemingly in a hurry.

"What is it?" she repeated to David, touching his arm. His jaw was set and his eyebrows knitted.

"Red says Belle is ill and can't travel. She has a fever," he told her, and she sighed. Just what they needed.

"Well, then we'll have to stay here today…" she said, trying to remember the last time she'd actually seen Belle. It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten with them last night.

"You know how risky that is," David returned, avoiding her eyes as he said this, but she wouldn't let him off the hook. "We can hardly fight off more than two or three ogres at the same time," he continued, "There's just not enough of us anymore, and they tend to come by the dozen once they hear one of their buddies hit the ground…"

"What are you suggesting?" Snow snapped incredulously, her voice gaining in pitch at the mere thought. "Listen to yourself… we can't leave her here!"

"I'm not suggesting that we do," he said, raising his hands in his defense, "I'm just saying we'll have to expect trouble." She nodded, calming down and chewing her lip absently. "You know your herbs, can't you find her something to speed things up a little?"

Snow drew a deep breath and released it slowly. How was she supposed to find anything helpful at this time of the year? They'd had soil frost. "I'll try," she finally conceded, hoping that she could still locate some charweed, at least. That was good for fighting infections and taking down temperatures, and she decided to ask Bae along, giving them a chance to talk. None of them ever left the campsite alone, and he was an excellent marksman, so no one wondered at the fact that she'd chosen to ask him. They left while Charming was still telling the others that they'd be hanging around these parts a little longer than they'd bargained for.

Bae was pleasant company as he walked beside her quietly, keeping his bow in his hand and his eyes open. It was dry this morning, mercifully, but still there was no end to the heavy dark clouds, and the wind was freshening up, chilling them to their bones.

"Who's ill?" he queried after a while.

"It's Belle," she informed him, training her eyes on the ground. "We might have to stay on the campsite for another day or two."

"Won't make much of a difference," he smirked. "We're not going anywhere as it is."

"_I_ know that, and _you_ know that," she admitted. "But most of the others don't, so we need to try and figure this out soon."

"Snow, we'll need to tell the others the truth sooner or later," he admonished, and fixed his gaze to hers. "They need to know. Maybe we can work this out together."

Snow was caught between a rock and a hard place, and she faced away from him. Just then, she caught a glance of a blue elderberry, and she found what they'd been looking for underneath its branches. She crouched down to pick some of the pale-colored charweed, plucking the dead outer leaves from the plant's more firm heart and wondering whether what was left of it would suffice. "I know," she said, straightening. "But I do want to talk to Charming and Archie first, before we spread panic. Too many have left already, and there is just more safety in numbers for everyone."

He shook his head slowly, but kept his opinions to himself as he watched her fuss over the decrepit, frozen plant she was holding. They'd definitely need more of the medicinal herb, he thought, and resumed searching in silence.

They returned to the campsite an hour later and found Belles makeshift shelter some way off from the others. It was made from green pine branches set over a triangular framing, carefully stuffed with moss and leaves to fill the gaps and keep the rain out. Snow saw that she was burning up and hardly responsive.

Bae decided to tend the tiny fire at the foot of the shelter, but there was almost no wood left. He felt sorry for Belle, but he had no idea how to talk to her. He had tried several times. Taken deep breaths. Looked for her. But then, he'd seen her profound sadness and respected her need to be alone, afraid to impose.

He'd felt a terrible loss when his father had sacrificed himself, a familiar hurt that reminded him how much he'd loved the spinner when he'd been a boy, and how much the spinner had loved him then. He'd lost him three times in sum: the first time when the spinner had become the Dark One, the second time when the Dark One had let go of his hand in the portal, and this was the third time, but he'd made his peace with Rumple. They'd parted on good terms, at long last, and he could say he was proud of the sorcerer, had no more issues with the man. He was able to move on.

Bae's much bigger problem was the constant ache of losing of Emma and Henry, and the emptiness he felt whenever his mind wandered. He was sure that Emma was taking care of Henry and that they would be fine, but he was pining for his family and longed to be with them, even though he'd never really had them at all. He'd so hoped and longed for Emma to fall in love with him again, and he wished he could have seen his son grow up… All of that would never happen now.

He was sure that Belle was missing his father just as much as he was missing Emma and Henry, if not more, because she had truly loved him for the best part of sixty years now, if his arithmetic was correct. The magnitude of her pain was there in the deep-seated sorrow of her eyes. Loving the Dark One had to be an almost impossible feat for any woman in her right mind, and he had no idea what he'd say to her, so he'd been glad for every day that passed when he didn't have to.

"Belle, you have to put these in your mouth and chew. Don't worry," Snow told her, helping her sit up as Red was just returning. She'd been collecting some firewood. She dropped the wood at Bae's feet and grabbed her hand with the charweed leaves before Snow could give any to Belle.

"Don't!" she insisted.

"Why not?" Snow demanded. "This is charwood – _you_ taught me this!"

"Because," she stumbled, her eyes darting back and forth between Belle and Snow, "sorry, Belle! Belle is pregnant."

Snow opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know what. All that came out was a surprised _Oh!_ from the back of her throat. She would never have guessed. A baby. Rumpelstiltskin's baby. She didn't know whether to be happy or shocked, if congratulations were welcome or even appropriate.

Bae had heard, and moved closer, thunderstruck. She couldn't possibly have picked a worse time, he thought to himself. This was the last thing he'd expected.

Red sighed, taking in the look on his face, but continued matter-of-factly, "We'll simply need some common horehound and a bit of goats' beard. That will take longer, but it won't harm the baby."

"I can find that," said Bae, pushing aside his doubts and regaining himself. This was strange, but he suddenly felt like he had to help in some way. He knew these plants and had seen the common horehound close by and still green. The goats' beard might take a while, he assumed, since it needed sunlight and sandy earth, so he put one last billet of wood on the fire, which was now going strong, and rose to his feet. They had to get Belle's temperature down and find a way out of this part of the forest, _soon_.

"Bae?" he heard Belle calling and turned back to crouch down beside her. She was in a terrible way, he discovered, pale and drawn, and they'd be lucky if she recovered at all.

"I'm here," he said kindly, and Belle hesitated, but then looked at him with misty blue eyes that found their way straight into his soul.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and he rubbed her arm reassuringly.

Nodding curtly at Red, who was still apologizing to Belle when he picked himself up, he was on his way, while Snow considered all the things she would have to confess to her husband, providing he hadn't already realized them for himself.

They were all keeping a lot of secrets. This would have to stop, because it was definitely not working out for them very well.

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_**Next: the sorcerer discovers that he has squatters... Regina DID do a rather sloppy job when she cast the curse... but we'll get to that later...**_


	5. The Hooded Man

_**Thanks for reviewing: Twyla Mercedes, cynicsquest and NobodyToo! **_

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5. The Hooded Man

Rumple felt that he was being watched, and he spun around, scattering gravel with the soles of his boots. His head was throbbing, his vision was blurry, and his eyes were playing tricks on him; there was no one there, but he could hear voices, and they were whispering names. Names of all the living, breathing beings he'd put an end to, and everyone he'd survived in his exceptionally long life. Then he saw their faces: humans, trolls, sprites, fairies, ogres, dwarves, goblins, and still more humans… endless apparitions to haunt him, persecute and hound him. They were everywhere, it seemed. His breath went in ragged gulps as he tried to shield himself from them, covering his ears, squeezing his eyes firmly shut, and hunkering down.

He was seeing ghosts because he'd become one of them again, joined the in-between that was neither here nor there and neither truly dead nor quite alive, but damned to darkness – by him. It took him a while to calm down, telling himself that he knew this feeling. It was the intensity and richness of the black magic engulfing him, he realized, and he remembered that it had had this effect on him before. In the beginning, right after he had become the Dark One, he'd been on the edge of reason most of the time, stopped sleeping and had horrific visions. He'd learned to control these turns by conjuring more pleasant images in his mind – a make-believe world to escape to from the bottomless pits of his own private hell.

Bae must have wondered whom he had been talking to on some occasions when illusion and reality had melted together. A long-dead childhood friend had kept him company at times, whenever Milah had not been in his head, and after his son had gone he had conjured lucid images of his 4-year-old boy playing contently by the fire as he span. It had almost been like the child was really there, singing and chattering, arranging small tokens he'd carved from horn or wood on the floor at his feet, and the comfort he'd gotten from that had saved his sanity.

He'd become more self-assured and less reliant on his illusions after he had taken the seer's life and Gift, and had been able to glimpse the future for himself. However, this Talent was, for reasons he didn't understand, not working anymore now. Going it blind after all these years of being able to predict the outcome of his actions was profoundly frightening. The Dark One picked himself up off the cobble beach all the same and thought _home_ as he straightened, letting his mind wander to his castle. He'd seen enough of these woods, he thought, and vanished.

Reappearing on the inner courtyard of his castle, Rumpelstiltskin took his time looking about. The huge, impressive building as such was practically untouched; its thick walls still stood, and the roofs were intact, from the main building's nave to the very last turret. Cobwebs in the eaves and some broken windows aside, he couldn't see anything amiss. He noted that the main gates were still closed as he walked around and glanced at the overgrown mess that had once been a beautiful Victorian walled garden, scanning for danger and damage. Dead grass and weeds choked the flower beds, and branches lay where autumn storms had cast them. There would be some work to do here, he mused, but overall, this was better than he'd expected. Even the well was still operable; nothing smelled, and the water tasted fine.

The heavy, iron-studded entry doors creaked slightly when they opened themselves for him. A wide smile crept across his face as he casually strode into his hallway and began running the pads of his fingers over the newel post and bottom part of the hand-railing of the elegant wooden banister in the stairwell. Tutting when they came off with dust on them, he decided he had sloppy squatters. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was sloppiness. He could feel the presence of a small group of people hiding somewhere in the building, but he was not alarmed. He didn't need his foresight to tell him that this was something he could handle.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he called as he made his way briskly to the Great Hall, his magic effortlessly picking up objects from the floor and setting chairs right, repairing glass doors and chandeliers, unfolding and cleaning rugs and shining the dulled tiles and woodwork. The spells he was using were simple, and he hardly had to think about them. "I would have called," he mocked, knowing he was being heard quite clearly, "but I didn't think you'd mind my dropping by!"

Five men silently appeared in the hallway, but he ignored them and kept walking as they drew arrows from their quivers and bent their bows, taking aim. He stopped by the window from which Pan's shadow had taken Bae and watched the pane repair itself while the men closed in on him from behind. He could sense their heart-rate rise, and their growing anxiety at the sight of him. They recognized him all right, they knew his name and his reputation, and the little display of his powers he was giving them was making their palms sweat. That had something tremendously _pleasing_. He'd often prompted this sort of reaction in people here, and he'd always relished the power this lent him after years of bending his back and bending his knees to men of higher birth or position.

When the last crack had smoothed from the glass, the Dark One turned abruptly, his eyes narrowing at Robin of Locksley as he mustered him. The Hooded Man hadn't changed much since their last encounter. Raising his finger as if to scold a naughty child, he inclined his head and tutted again. "Now, now, is that any way to welcome back your landlord?" he sneered, raising an eyebrow.

Robin did not take down his bow. "My debts to you are paid in full," he declared, "and I have to be sure you're not going to kill us."

Rumple willed the arrows pointed at him to fall clattering to the ground, and they did, causing the men to startle. John Little gasped, sure that his number was finally up, and he exchanged a terrified look with Will Scarlett.

"I know that you helped my son," the sorcerer continued after a moment of reveling in the men's discomfort. "So… I'm not going to kill you – yet," he told them. "I'm just shocked at your housekeeping in my absence. Dustbunnies everywhere, and the yard is a mess. You've never planted the garden, and you've let the fruit trees grow wild. They're diseased and won't carry in summer – what _were_ you planning on living on with the game as scarce as it is these days?"

He stalked around the long banqueting table that was the center piece of the room, and clasped his hands loosely behind his back, facing away from them again. "Now, take down those ridiculous toys and get out of my sight."

The five men looked at each other and lowered their useless weapons, but did not leave. Robin took a deep breath, and the sorcerer was astonished to find that he had absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

"We ask your permission to stay in this castle – or at least on the grounds," the archer said eventually, his voice _almost_ unwavering as he took a few steps forward. "We have women, children and old folk within these walls… and it's not safe out there. If we leave, they will be lost."

"And what would you offer me in return for putting up with them?" Rumpelstiltskin scoffed, not expecting to get any kind of an answer, but the archer firmly fixed his gaze to the sorcerer's and raised his chin defiantly.

"We would be willing to stand in your service," he said, fighting for composure as he pushed his fists into his sides, knuckles white from clasping the wooden bow too tightly.

Rumple had some trouble guarding his expression and labored to conceal his bewilderment. Briefly considering the proposal before discarding the thought, he bent down to pick up the staff that Bae had used to open the vault at the far end of the hall. What manner of being could be scaring these men _of_ the woods _out_ of these woods, he wondered. What could be scaring them more than he?

"No," he answered simply and coolly, then, deciding it was none of his concern and presently not in his interest to get himself involved in anything he couldn't gage just yet.

"No?" Robin returned sharply, helpless anger reverberating in his voice as he threw the bow that wasn't going to save his life or his people to the ground. "Is that it? No?"

Rumple turned halfway back to him and cocked his head to one side. He didn't need anybody intruding on him here. To hell with them, and to hell with their women and children. He didn't want them near him – he didn't want _anyone_ near him.

"No," he repeated. "I don't keep company very well. Ask anyone. Oh, but then, there's no one left, is there? I mean, apart from you and your… your _merry women and old folk_."

"There is, but you don't know the half of it yet," Robin contradicted him. "We know you cast a cloaking spell on your castle to conceal it from the magical creatures of this forest. That's why the ogres and the wolves can't find it, but the ogres are just the beginning. You have a new enemy, and it might just come in handy to have ten good men who know their way around right now."

Rumple thought about it for a few seconds more, but came to the same conclusion. "Let me reiterate: certainly not."

Suddenly a small, thin boy of about five years with fair hair came scuttling into the room, wearing a leather bodyshield much too big for his small torso, and sporting a half-sized longbow of his own. "You can't make us leave!" he shouted, aiming an arrow at Rumple.

"Roland, no!" Robin cried out in panic as the boy made a beeline around him, but before he could grab a hold of his boy, Roland had positioned himself right in front of the Dark One, feet wide apart, and a menacing look playing comically on the features of his round young face.

Rumple barked a hearty laugh and waved his left hand at Robin, freezing him in his tracks. The sorcerer was delighted at the boy's appearance, absolutely sold on his resolve, and he couldn't help but wonder at the gutsiness of the child that was set on looking out for his family.

"Your son?" he questioned the immobilized woodsman, ignoring the boy's threatening stance. At that moment, Roland angrily shot his arrow off at Rumple before his father could even attempt to reply. The Dark One had to dodge it by shifting out of the way, which aggravated the boy tremendously, and he immediately began to employ a new arrow. Robin's muscles loosened then because the sorcerer wasn't paying attention, and he scrambled for his son, picking up the kicking, struggling child, dragging him away from Rumpelstiltskin.

"Come on, we're leaving," he told him gently, trying to soothe him before addressing John.

"Tell the others," he said to the tall, bearded man who was looking on apprehensively, and John started for the arching doorway after shaking his head at the magician and shooting him a resentful look.

"We'll be on our way, then," the archer mumbled and faced away.

All at once, something stirred inside the sorcerer as he watched father and son, and baffling himself, he unexpectedly reconsidered.

"Wait," he called to Robin's back, and Roland ceased his thrashing. "I've changed my mind." He observed the boy making himself heavy, and Robin stopped in his tracks, heaving a quiet sigh of relief.

"If all your men are as spunky as this little one," Rumpelstiltskin went on, hoping he wouldn't regret this, "then you might indeed prove useful."

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_**Next: Monsters... We'll be meeting up with old... um... friends.**_


	6. Monsters

_**Thank your for your wonderful reviews: NobodyToo, Kind Baudelaire, cynicsquest and Twyla Mercedes!**_

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6. Monsters

Regina's feet were killing her, and she was glad she'd finally decided not to spend another single day wandering pointlessly around some part of the Enchanted Forest that a wicked spell of her own could have designed. She had to admit that she admired the craftsmanship of the sorcerer – or sorceress – who'd devised this kind of magic, and, in a way, she was glad it was there because it would keep the people she'd come here with busy for a while.

The Shepherd Prince could well still be leading his dwindling numbers of followers through the sticks a year from now, she thought, with Snow White firing him on and encouraging three dozen barmaids, physicians, carpenters, bards, handymen and washwomen ever onward, while Cinderella, Moping Beauty and Lanky Red Riding Hood trudged along behind…

The mere thought of it made her shudder as she stood quietly observing her surroundings at Cora's Mill; her stepdaughter and David had been expecting her, the _queen_, to muster up team-spirit and stick it out with her former subjects in the thickets just because they were unable to help themselves. Out of _sympathy_ to their plight.

_Sympathy? Her? Who'd have thought they'd put it past her? _

They'd honestly imagined that she'd continue to go traipsing around the dark, depressing, ogre-ridden, wolf-infested woods with them until they found a way to get everybody back to their dark, depressing, pathetic little huts and hovels so they could all pick up where they left off their dark, depressing, pitiful little existences thirty years ago…

Now, under any other circumstances, and if this had been happening to anybody else – say, Cora, or Maleficent – she might have been mildly amused. Except, she wasn't amused one bit, because, for some reason, this was happening to _her_.

Absolutely not entertaining, she'd thought earlier that morning when she'd awoken cold, stiff and hungry under the dripping pine branch roof of her small, makeshift shelter. Rising before anybody else did, she'd brushed her clothes off in disgust, picked some bugs out of her hair, taken one last look around and vanished. _She_ could, because _she_ had magic. _They_ couldn't, because _they_ didn't. Having magic meant having _choices_, and she was choosing.

The Evil Queen would not be reduced to _roughing it_ with the Charmings and a hoard of scummy peasants. She had other plans, and she definitely did not want to see the outcome of this little camping trip to hell. Not while she had places to go and people to see.

Regina had always imagined that her return to the Enchanted World would be more… _grandiose_, in a way – more pleasant than finding herself out in the open in a world full of monsters, eating roots for breakfast and half-raw, half-burnt squirrels for supper with a bunch of idiots that didn't know when to cut their losses. There hadn't been a doubt in her mind that they'd all return, someday, but reality had sure hit home hard when they'd found themselves facing… _this_. Realizing that she'd not be going back to business as usual, she'd resolved that it was time she got to work on making the best of things for herself.

Her plans had never included catering for that wretched pack of wildlings she was leaving behind, or even caring what became of them, really; she needed a head start, and she needed to put them out of her mind. There was no helping _all_ _of them_, even with her abilities. And yes, she _had_ asked, _twice_, and gotten _that_ look from Snow; the one that told her helping _some of them_ would by no means be good enough for Miss Goody-Two-Shoes and her tall, blond Chippenfail hero, so she was helping _none of them_, and good riddance.

Yes indeed, having magic meant having choices.

Something she had _not_ chosen was finding that she'd retained her memories, and she'd been horrified to discover that they were all still there; every last decrepit detail of the things she'd most longed to forget. It wasn't that she'd been losing sleep over having cast this curse in the first place, having done away with the huntsman or any other soul she'd never cared about and destroyed along her way… No… it was that _she'd loved. _

_And she'd been loved. _

_And she'd lost love._

_Again_.

That's what had been disturbing her sleep (creepy crawlies and hard forest floor aside), and she wanted it _gone_. She _needed_ it gone. Getting away from the people she'd let herself come far too close to already would help with that.

Having been forced to give Henry to Emma in order to save him from a world that was cruel and dangerous, cold and bitter, as well as simply anarchic right now unquestionably made the top ten on her personal list of heartaches. Saving him from that – and from herself – had been imperative to her in Storybrooke, but having to remember it _every day_ now when she looked at his father or at his grandparents had most certainly not been on the agenda.

Something had gone wrong with the curse she'd cast. Again. Unfortunately, this time _everyone_ remembered who they were and what had happened, not just she herself, and it was only a matter of time before they started blaming her for the mess they were all in. Wrongfully so, of course, but she wasn't having it.

Being who she was in this world, she could be the mighty ruler of an entire realm one day and up for execution the very next. She'd lost count of the lives she had crushed, the families she had ruined and the pain she had inflicted, not unlike many other kings and queens she'd known, so she could not be sure of anyone's loyalty, or even solidarity here. On the contrary, she was aware that she had managed to have practically everybody she'd met within the last forty years or so up in arms against her, so it was best to put some distance between her and the others in any case. People only remained civilized when they had the means and the right incentive to do so, and these people were starving, freezing, and they had nothing to lose.

Distance as such had never been a bad thing for someone of her standing anyhow, and since she was sorely lacking her army to raise the stakes and improve her peoples' incentives, it was better she put _a lot_ of it between her and everybody else…

When she came to think of it: whatever _had_ become of her soldiers? Who'd have anticipated that she'd wind up on the loosing team in the middle of nowhere instead of at her palace with an appropriate entourage and her black knights? Or even Leopold's summer palace, for that matter, which was where she'd been at, having Charming killed just seconds before becoming Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke? She had, and there was no mistaking about that, been on the up side of things when she'd cast that curse the first time round.

Destiny was probably having a good, hard laugh at her right this minute, she supposed, but that was going to change, because she was having none of that, either.

The Dark One himself had taught her that if you couldn't get your subjects to love you, you had to rule by fear, so that was precisely what she'd been doing before all this had started. They'd all _feared_ her, and she'd never regretted it, because fear was power. Granted, she'd had to sacrifice the life of the one person she'd always been able to rely on in exchange for that one taste of vengeance she'd been yearning for… It hadn't been worth it, though, and she had wound up regretting that the price of this particular bit of magic hadn't remotely fit the quality of what she'd gotten in return. She'd long since realized that she'd have been better off concentrating on getting her kingdom back by spreading some more fear.

Unfortunately, there was no going back to that manner of handling matters now. She was quite sure that it would be a complete waste of time to talk to her stepdaughter or Prince Self-Righteous about reinstating her. There was no way they'd come to terms with one another and play happy families, or even coexist side by side here in this world, so she'd have to figure out something.

Her life had always been… complicated, but it had gotten even more so since she'd started using her freedom of choice to live up to other people's expectations of her. To Henry's, in particular, and she'd clipped her own wings in trying to change who she was for his sake. Henry had been the only person who could bring forth some other, more 'decent' version of herself, and he'd been the only person who'd been worthwhile doing that for. But, since they were not in Storybrooke anymore, and he was not part of her life anymore, what was left for her? And who was to say what direction this would take if she didn't start using what means she had?

Regina had come to Cora's Mill because this was the place her former travelling companions would least expect her to go. Nobody knew of the tunnels and store rooms beneath it, and nobody would look for her here. She'd also be safe enough from the monsters that were roaming this earth until she'd thought of how to get herself sorted out and pick up the pieces of her life. However… she was bringing the most dangerous monster of them all with her inside herself, and she knew it.

After she'd done a brief survey of the area and deemed it secure, her gaze fell upon the derelict building itself. It had been a sorry excuse for both a working place and a home for as long as she could remember, and it had stood empty and abandoned for much longer. Cora hadn't had it pulled down, nonetheless. Her mother had seen to it that necessary repairs were made, and she'd taken Regina here herself every so often as a child to remind her, she'd said, how lucky they were to have escaped the fate of being born the miller's daughter.

The mill and its outbuildings were huddled into a small hazel grove that was slowly reclaiming the site they were built upon. The stream channeled to drive the broken, rotting water wheel for the grinder had been dammed by more than three decades of leaves, fallen branches, debris and dead animals that were jamming up the spillway. Stale, murky water pooled widely around the structure, turning the grassy, overgrown clearing into swampland, and she found herself wading through a shallow, putrid lake to get to the front door. Unspeakable things clung to her legs right up to the knees as she began to make her way towards the ruins of her grandparents' life's labors, swearing under her breath and thoroughly disgusted with the whole situation. This was _so_ far below her.

The mill itself had seen better days, though it had already been all but collapsing when she'd last set foot inside, years after she'd rid herself of Cora. She took her time to look about inside the dismal, gloomy lower level with its shattered windows and broken furniture, and then descended a narrow flight of steps into a deep chasm under the earth through a concealed entrance beneath the millstone, casting enchantments to seal herself in so as to avoid unpleasant surprises and unwelcome company.

Cautiously, she made her way into the cavernous darkness, a fireball in her hand illuminating only parts of the vast tunnel system ahead. The cold and the sound of water dripping off the walls made her wish that this time and age had brought forth more warming and suitable clothing for an endeavor of this kind. Sadly, she couldn't conjure what this world didn't have, and she'd have to make do.

When she finally reached the abyssal cave she'd been looking for, she unexpectedly saw light a short distance ahead on the far side. What she discovered there made her jump.

"Hello, darling! How kind of you to come visit", said a soft-spoken voice, and the delicate woman it belonged to stepped out of the shadows, as though she'd been waiting for her.

"Maleficent..." stumbled Regina, struggling for composure and straightening her back. The other woman smiled, her eyes narrowing malevolently. This, the Evil Queen had not expected.

"Are you still very angry with me?" she asked, and the look she got from the Fallen Fairy told all.

XXXxxxXXX

Bae had diligently kept the tiny fire going through the last part of their chilly nightshift, listening for anything suspicious, while Red had gone on patrol. They were both cold and tired, and he knew they'd have a hard time warming up, even if they were lucky enough to get some sun today. They were both exhausted and would be for the rest of the day as their march continued. Stretching his back, he yawned and rubbed his neck, marveling at how silently and almost liquidly Red managed to make her way through the undergrowth. She stepped so lightly and sinuously that she barely made a noise. It was as if she walked not _on_, but levitated just _above_ any twig that might snap under her weight.

She sat down beside him, hugging her knees. "It's been quiet tonight," she stated softly, and he wished he had some coffee to offer her. He wished he had some for himself. Strong, black and hot – coffee was probably _the_ twenty-first century amenity he most missed at times like these. Giving a small sigh, he handed her his water-pouch instead. She uncorked it gratefully and took a swallow, grimacing at the bilgy taste. It was awful, but it was water, and he gave her a smile when she handed it back to him.

He was glad she wasn't much of a conversationalist. He'd had shifts with a nurses from Storybrooke General who'd been one of Regina's kitchen maids before the curse, and the woman had let him in on every ache, pain and scandal ever experienced by any patient in that hospital. He felt he knew Dr. Whale like a brother, though he had never actually spoken to the man. Whale hadn't even been with them when they had returned, and they'd been wondering what could have happened to him; a lot of people didn't seem to have made it here, and he would have given anything to find out whether or not they were still in the World Without Magic. If anyone had been left behind there, then maybe they would find a way out of this yet, and he'd get back to Emma and Henry.

The others would be up soon, he realized, and when one of Snow's former palace guards came to relieve him, he used the opportunity to check on Belle. She'd managed their march the day before quite well, considering that she'd been so seriously ill only a little over a week before. He hadn't thought that she'd be able to keep up, but she was made of more than her looks, and he was beginning to see why his father had fallen in love with her.

Snow and Red hadn't told anyone else about the baby, and neither had he. She didn't want people to know, not even her own father, and there was no point in arguing with that. The Duke of Avonlea, a sad-eyed, pudgy man who'd been the florist Maurice French in Storybrooke, had left the group shortly after Regina, taking six or seven of his former soldiers with him. In the World Without Magic, they had been shop clerks and insurance salesmen – Bae didn't consider it a great loss, on the whole, since none of them were good for anything but complaints. The Duke had half-heartedly asked Belle to accompany them, but Bae had seen the look she'd given the old man when she'd told him that she had no intention of going with them. He'd been surprised that she hadn't even asked for some time to consider; he was her father, after all. Bae had observed that they'd hardly spoken in the course of the last weeks, though, and it seemed that they just didn't have much to say to one another. He could only guess that Rumple had a lot to do with that.

She was still curled up and cocooned in her blanket, fast asleep when he peeked inside the shelter, as she was every morning when he checked on her, and he didn't begrudge her that. It made sense for her to get whatever rest she could, so he'd volunteered to take all of her night watches and was glad it seemed to be doing her good.

"Sweet dreams," he mumbled softly, smiling at the thought that she was carrying his little brother or sister, and he was about to leave her to her last ten minutes of peace and quiet, when she stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand and squinted at him in the dim light of early dawn. Her hair was a mess, and she still coughed a lot, and he thought that he'd have to see about getting her something for that.

"Rumple?" she murmured drowsily, trying to focus.

His smile widened. "Nah, it's just me," he replied. "I'm sorry I woke you…"

She cleared her throat, swallowing hard, and he handed her his water-pouch. The look in her eyes told him he had better left well enough alone when she took it hesitatingly, because he'd unintentionally just opened a wound that might otherwise have slowly begun to close.

"I'm sorry, Belle", he repeated. "About everything."

"No, don't be," she returned, setting down the pouch without drinking from it, and pulled the cloak she'd been sleeping in for extra warmth and her blanket around her more snugly, hugging her knees in a tight huddle. "You've nothing to be sorry for. You just startled me a little. You sound so much like him sometimes…"

He acknowledged that quietly and hunkered down beside her for a moment, chewing his lower lip. "Sooner or later we're going to get out of here, and things will get better," he told her, "I promise."

Just then, they felt the earth shake. "Ogres," he breathed as he rose in alarm, looking about with his stomach clenching, and he listened intently, trying to decide from which direction it was coming at them.

Belle was suddenly wide awake. She pulled on her boots and scampered to her feet, gathering her bow and quiver hurriedly, and followed Bae to the campsite fire before most of the others had realized what was happening.

Bae saw that David was already up and rousing people, and he beckoned Red, who was talking softly with Archie. Snow and Charming were at their side presently. They exchanged glances and silently outlined their strategy before splitting up and taking different directions towards the source of the rumbling commotion the ogre's movement was causing in the thicket. Belle stuck with Bae, but soon fell behind. Being the slowest of them all, she was dismally aware of the fact that she wasn't much good to them when Red passed her. She had a hard time catching her breath through fits of coughing and had to stop every so often, but stubbornly kept driving herself on. They had to keep the monster away from the campsite; destroy it, or at least lure it away, or it would kill them all.

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_**Next up: some reflections - Rumple realizes why he's never much liked mirrors...**_


	7. Reflections

_**As always, thank you for taking the time to review: **__**cynicsquest, **__**Twyla Mercedes and CJ Moliere!**_

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7. Reflections

There was a dustcover on the tall full-sized mirror with the golden ornate fame at the far end of the sorcerer's Great Hall. He had disdainfully placed the white sheet over the looking-glass three weeks ago without daring to even glance at his reflection – or anything else that might appear there instead. Mirrors had always made him feel… unsafe… exposed… _reflected_.

_Costly and exquisite things, mirrors,_ he mused, as he stared at that dustcover. To him, mirrors were testaments to vanity and pride, and only wealthy people could afford them. Neither his father nor the spinsters who'd raised him had ever owned one, so his very first childhood encounter which an object much similar to the one under the cloth had frightened him profoundly and given him nightmares for weeks. He'd been deeply scared of the magic that he'd believed to be contained within the glass. Of course, the mirror he'd seen then had been nothing out of the ordinary, but his imagination had led him to believe that it could generate a parallel world of semblances beyond the smooth, cool surface he looked upon, and the boy looking back at him might reach out and take him away from himself if he got too close.

At eighteen, he'd decided to put his foolish notions aside and bought a very small hand mirror for Milah as a wedding gift, spending a fortune on it that he didn't really have. He'd worked his fingers to the bone and traded his only winter cloak to please his new bride with this precious gift, but she'd been used to better growing up, and he'd had the impression that she was almost disappointed in his efforts to make her happy. Looking back, he was certain that he could never have made her happy in any case.

Milah's father had been a taxman in the king's service, and the king had granted the collector's family a lot of favors. They'd lived a life of luxurious amenities a spinner's wife could only dream of: good choices of food and a large house with flowerbeds and paved walks, fine, brightly colored clothing that distinguished their social standing, furniture that was replaced when it was broken, and maids that did the cooking and cleaning.

One day, the taxman had been accused of embezzlement, and the king had taken the family's land and possessions. The beautiful house had been passed along to the taxman's successor, along with the elegant clothing and all that money that had bought the countless other little things they'd had to leave behind. They'd been left homeless and impoverished, their friends had turned their backs on them, and since taxmen weren't particularly popular with the king's people, it had been difficult to find a place to stay. A poor cousin had taken them in, in the end; the taxman, his wife and their two daughters, but he had not been particularly excited at the prospect of supporting his stultified relatives, since he had five young children of his own to feed and clothe, as well as a reputation to lose. Being a good man, however, the unfortunate cousin had put up with his spoilt and arrogant kin for a lot longer than anyone would have given him credit for, hoping that the kindness would one day be repaid.

Milah had always retained a superior air of sorts even then; an air of being something better, something above the spinner or anyone else in the village, and Rumpelstiltskin had not liked her condescending demeanor in the least bit when he'd first met her. Rowe, the younger of the taxman's daughters, had been very different from her sister, earthed and quiet, and it was she whom the spinner had been infatuated with a long time before he'd proposed to Milah. The dark-haired girl with the unusually restless blue eyes had never given him a second glance though, nor had she ever said or done anything to encourage him, but he'd been drawn to her all the same. He'd only given up hope when Milah had told him that her sister had confessed she secretly loved another. This had made sense to him then; Rowe had been preoccupied and lost in her own world for all the time he knew her, and love seemed to be as good an explanation as any. He'd been in love before, but he'd never been loved back. Being who he was – Malcom's son – the spinner knew a thing or two about not being very popular. And he was tired of not being loved back.

Milah had often walked to the weekly market in town with him after that, taking eggs and sometimes a few hens to sell near the stalls he delivered his yarns and cloths to. She was grateful for his company on the long road there, she'd admitted, and she'd laughed at his jokes, told him the latest gossip, and they'd chatted about this and that. He'd soon taken to waiting for her to have sold all that she'd brought along, and if she hadn't, he'd bargained the last of it away as best he could by going from door to door on their way back, making sure she wouldn't have to go home a penny short. Neither her mother nor her aunt had seemed displeased at their arrangement, and the taxman had sometimes patted him on the shoulder and offered him some of his cousin's mead.

Things had been settled between them eventually, quite soberly and without much ado; her father and one of the village elders had met with them by the village well to bear witness to their unceremonious vows to one another. There had been his promise to care for her, and in return, she'd promised him to be faithful, keep his house and bear him children. Then, there had been smiles all round and handshakes, some mead and a hen for the village elder, another thump on the shoulder for Rumple, and then Milah and he had moved into the hut he'd built for them, since the one the spinsters had left him had not pleased his new wife. And that had been that.

The following spring, when the taxman's cousin's patience had worn out, her father somehow managed to acquire a donkey cart. He'd put their few belongings on that cart and taken his wife and Rowe to join a caravan heading to some other kingdom in the east, where he was hoping to start over, and that had been the last he'd seen of Rowe or any of them. He'd had the distinct impression Milah hadn't been unhappy to see her sister go, though she'd pined terribly for her mother, and he'd done his best to offer her diversions and comfort, but not even the birth of their son had lifted her spirits. On the contrary; she'd gotten depressive, and when she'd finally gotten over that, she'd broken every promise she'd ever made to him.

Bae had been a toddler when he played with the mirror he'd given her on their wedding day. He'd dropped it on the stone tiles in front of the fireplace, shattering the glass. Milah hadn't been there. She'd left him alone in the house again, as she'd often done when the spinner was out, deciding that he would probably not wake until his father returned. On that day, however, the tot had woken, found his mother's pretty, sparkling mirror and cut his hands and his mouth badly on the shards, and he'd been all alone with his pain.

Rumple had returned before dusk a while after it must have happened, whistling a tune and satisfied that he'd made a good deal with the shepherd he acquired his wool from. He'd dropped the load from his back and started running as fast as his bad knee would allow when he'd heard the child wailing inside the cabin, still some distance away. Hearing his small son howl in agony the way he did and seeing all that blood on his chubby, feverish little face had shocked him completely, but he'd stayed outwardly calm, as was his way around the boy, and gently cleaned and bandaged the wounds. He'd buried the shards of the mirror behind the shed that night before Milah came home, but he'd never lost a word over it to her, and she'd never so much as asked. As was their way around each other.

The cuts had healed, but there had been scars left on Bae's hands and around his mouth to serve as a permanent reminder of that day. Realizing how lucky they'd been that the boy hadn't swallowed any of the glass that had cut him, he'd felt that this was a small price to pay, though. Several lifetimes later, the pawnbroker had noted that the man Bae had grown into wore a beard; undoubtedly to hide the worst of the scars the spinner had not been able to prevent, though they would have faded somewhat in all those years.

Rumpelstiltskin detested mirrors deeply, but he debated with himself whether or not to try to have a look at what had become of Baelfire by chancing just one glance under the dustcover. If he was lucky, the magical looking-glass would still be working as it had before the curse, and it would reveal a small glimpse of his son's present situation to him. However, he was unsure that he really wanted to see. In the two years he'd had this mirror before the curse, the two years after he'd let Belle walk out of his life, he'd never once ventured to risk a peek. He'd been too afraid of what he might find and not be able to change, and he was still afraid now.

Menacing ogres and having great fun with trying various curses on them had kept him quite busy during the last weeks, though he was astonished at how many of the unfortunate creatures were around these parts nowadays. Rarely having been at the castle during the daytime, he'd hardly had an opportunity to think about anything else than dealing with the monsters that infested his woods and were exterminating his deer, and that had most certainly been fine with him. He'd rather take on any number of ogres, wolves, trolls or whatever else was out there than face the nothingness, or worse, he might catch sight of when he looked in that mirror.

And _still_, he debated. Especially at night, when he found neither sleep nor comfort, and at times like these, when he was alone with himself and his reflections; the ones he could cope with, as well as the ones he couldn't bring himself to confront.

He had often been weary since arriving back here, and it took a lot of effort to conceal the fact from his bunch of merry squatters. He was not the same powerful, immortal sorcerer he'd been when he had left this world, and he knew he'd have some issues to come to terms with as time wore on. If he was no longer immortal, then he was just as vulnerable as any other human. He'd get ill, and he'd age, he'd suffer, and he'd die. Although he hadn't yet regretted the decision to have Robin and his followers stay at the castle, he would have to get a move on and find out who had brought those ogres back to life in the Lost Mountains, where he'd banished them centuries ago during the ogre wars, and why. He'd have to destroy them once and for all to make sure that _nobody_ would be bringing back the monsters that had haunted him for years when his son had been young, and then send his boarders on their way so he could work out how he was going to deal with his present situation in any reasonable way.

"What are you doing?" a boy's voice inquired from behind him unexpectedly, parting him abruptly from his musings. Rumple was sure that he'd been alone a second ago, but he told himself that he just hadn't been paying attention, distracted by the mirror's hold on his thoughts.

"Not much," he replied coolly and turned to face Roland, who was raising his chin in a manner that made him raise an eyebrow in return. Rumple enjoyed Roland's company, even though he never would have admitted it. The boy brought life to this place. There were three other children around Roland's age at the castle, but Rumple had observed that they were still quite busy holding themselves on their feet while breathing all at the same time. The Hooded Man's son, however, was bright and adept for a five-year-old.

The sorcerer stepped away from the mirror and walked around the boy, his hands clasped behind his back and something between a smile and a grin flitting across face. "Why have you come to see me?" he asked.

"Just because," Roland replied wryly.

"No one comes to see me without having a deal or some sort of proposal on his mind, young man," Rumple teased. How often he had said these words to anyone who'd come to ask something of him? He had no idea, but he'd never said them to a boy barely out of diapers before, and Roland giggled, keeping a close eye on the Dark One as he clasped his own hands behind his back and stood up straight, copying the sorcerer's stance.

"Come on, now, lad – what's on your mind?" Rumple persisted more seriously after a moment, and the boy looked at his feet, slumping his shoulders as his courage deserted him.

"I want to know about magic," he mumbled feebly, and the sorcerer's smile waned as he leaned down towards him slightly.

"And why would you want to have knowledge of such a dangerous, serious manner of thing?" he inquired gently, and Roland heaved a sigh.

"My papa says magic is only dangerous in the wrong hands, in the hands of someone bad. Magic makes things better; _you're _taking care of the ogres with magic."

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated briefly before responding to contemplate the ruinous downfall of his evil reputation... He mildly considered that he should have thrown the Merry Men out as he had intended to after all. _Was this what it had come to? The Dark One was no longer classified as someone bad? This was new._ He made a note that he'd have to do something about that. Stalking back and forth in front of that wretched enchanted mirror, he seethed slightly, but kept his face guarded. Children and drunkards, he thought, children and drunkards…

"Is that all?" he snorted, and the boy began walking beside him, holding his pace. "You want to know about magic so you can learn to take care of the ogres? Aren't you a bit young for that?"

The boy looked up at him intently, hopefully, while Rumple tried to train his eyes on anything but the child.

"My aunty says that you can make vegetables and corn grow in the fields so that everybody has enough to eat – if you just want to. And… your magic healed my mum before I was born, which is why I'm alive. My father told me so. But she died after you left and took the magic with you," he told the sorcerer, and Rumple stopped abruptly in his tracks to face the boy, perplexed at the child's clarity of logic and estimation.

He didn't think he wanted any part in this. The boy might expect something of him that he wasn't able to deliver – not anymore. Yes, he _had_ been able to do a lot of things, but that was _before_ he'd used the dagger on himself in Storybrooke to rid mankind of Peter Pan, and before using magic exhausted him like it did now. He was lost for words and couldn't think of a smart, much less a compassionate thing to say in reply to what Roland was asking. Children were hard to lie to, especially when they were so aware at such an early age, so awake to the circumstances that surrounded them. Bae had been a lot like that, he remembered, and it hurt.

"You better get back to your aunty," he returned quietly then, turning his back on Roland. "Your father wouldn't like you talking to me about magic, lad."

Roland stared at him imploringly for what seemed like an eternity, but reluctantly started to do as he was told because he felt that he was overstepping some boundary with the magician all at once. He stopped at the door for a second to glance back.

"I want to understand, and I will ask you again, you know," he said, and the sorcerer nodded, supposing that the lad well might, someday. The idea that magic was the solution to almost every basic human problem was enticing if you happened to live in a world where human problems were plentiful, defining and often so very devastating, so there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the boy would approach him again one day. He didn't know just what he'd tell him then, but he had the feeling that he'd have to think about it. Magic was dangerous not only when used by bad people, but also when taught – or learned – for the wrong reasons, as he well knew.

After he was sure that Roland was gone, the sorcerer felt the sudden urge to tear the dustcover off the mirror and reveal his reflection, and he quickly did so with one sharp tug. The sheet billowed out and fell to the floor as he stared at himself in the looking-glass. Yes, there it was, _the monster_. He felt age-old resentment rise up in him like bile in his throat and assessed the strange, glistening pigmentation of his face and neck, hating it. He raked frantically through his wiry hair and then examined his rotting teeth in disgust. The deep, dark chocolate brown color of the pupils around his black irises was all he'd retained of his human appearance, all that was left of the pawnbroker or the spinner, and this was probably a just punishment for more than a lifetime of using his magic _not_ to make things better, when he'd had the chance.

His reflection showed him exactly what he'd expected to see, but the mirror was showing him nothing and no one else whatsoever besides the Dark One glaring back at him, and he was back to square one because he didn't know whether this was good or bad. He'd brought all this upon himself, and he had to figure out a new way to live with it here in this world now, or he'd lose his mind. He was about to turn away when the glass misted over.

"What on earth kept you so long?" a familiar voice chortled, as the image cleared and the Evil Queen became visible, discernibly startling at the sight of him.

He gazed at the glass in disbelief before he took in that this was indeed _the Evil Queen_, and not Regina, and she was _here_, not in the World Without Magic.

"Well, well, well…" he lilted incredulously, "look who managed to get herself into a fix again..."

He waited for her to react to him while she fought for composure at the sight of the Dark One in all his sickly greens, greys and gold, leather-clad in black and obviously sharpening that dagger of his mentally at this very moment.

His mind was derailing as he began to imagine the whole spectrum of things that her presence in this world could implicate, and she started to writhe in discomfort at the expression on his face, searching for words, even though she'd rehearsed this conversation over and over. Watching her through loathing eyes the color of coal, his lips curled into a vicious snarl as his rage spilled over.

"What a waste of my time you turned out to be!" he roared at her, fists slamming against the golden frame of the looking-glass, and breathing raggedly, making her physically feel his burning rage long-distance, "What have you _done_?"

* * *

_**Next: Everything burns - Snow and Belle are in deep trouble.**_


	8. Everything Burns

_**Thank you for reviews and encouragement: cynicsquest, Twyla Mercedes!**_

* * *

8. Everything Burns

Red had lost her spear, but she had to do _something_, so she was screaming and shouting inarticulately at the top of her lungs, waving her arms about wildly in trying to distract the hideous, ferocious ogre that was repeatedly taking swings at Snow with his club. The cudgel came thundering down on the ground next to her friend, missing her by mere inches, and it went crashing into trees, breaking bows and branches that fell, threatening to crush them both as the earth shook with the uncoordinated movements of the furious creature.

Snow kept dodging back and forth between beeches and oaks, frantically trying to avoid getting mashed to a pulp by the ogre's enormous feet as it followed her tenaciously, ignoring Red. Perhaps it was picky in the choice of its meals, Snow thought, and wished that Red would have the sense to run, though she wouldn't have known where to, she supposed.

Four ogres had found their campsite, and they'd only been able to kill two of them by cornering them, trapping them underneath the protected, rocky ledge where they'd spent the previous night and most of that day. They had chosen this spot because it had been dry there, and they'd needed to hunt. Charming, Archie, Red and a few others had flung the last of their torches at the beasts, and they'd set fire to rags and the remainder of the oil they'd had, their bedding, and everything else that would burn, blocking their way, while Bae, Belle and she had pelted them with arrows and spears. Everything around them had gone up in smoke, including most of their provisions, clothing and the gear they needed so badly to survive out in the open.

Everything burns, eventually, Snow thought as she scrambled and clambered for her life; _everything_, if you just kindle the flame long enough.

The bow she was carrying wasn't much help at this range, and she was almost out of arrows. She'd long since resolved that obtaining a sword would have to be her next priority, though she really hated the thought of being this close to anything she might need to kill. Maneuvering around the monster somehow, she skidded down the steep, muddy drop towards the river bank more on her behind than on her legs, but she still couldn't get a clear shot at the ogre's eye through the dense dripping branches of needlewood once she'd put some space between it and herself. It had started pouring again hours ago, and the rain was now turning to slush as daylight began to fade, obscuring her sight.

Since the ogre pursuing Snow relentlessly went on disregarding Red's attempts to draw its attention, the brunette decided it was time to lose the crimson cloak she wore against her curse. She would have made a quicker target than her friend, surely, and she couldn't help but wonder why it was going after Snow so stubbornly. Why they always did – it was _always_ either Snow or Belle they wanted, for some reason, though they'd kill anybody that got in their way all the same. Nervously looking around as she shrugged off her enchanted cape, she asked herself if anyone else had ever noticed that, and she saw that Bae, who was also down to his last two arrows, was just up the slope from her, only a few feet away, and meticulously taking aim. When the first of his shots fell short, she knew it was past time to shift.

At the same moment, Belle and Charming felled the furiously roaring ogre they had been tackling on the narrow riverbank a little way off from Snow and the others, and it crashed into the shallow black water on the shore, bleeding profusely from its wounds and polluting the icy stream. Chopping and slicing at whatever part of the howling creature that moved, Charming leapt nimbly onto its chest. He raised his sword and delivered one final well-directed stroke to its eye, swiftly ending the fight. Belle, who'd stayed behind on the cobble beach, watched him struggle to free the steel that was lodged in the creature's brain, bending over with her hands on her thighs and trying to catch her breath.

_Just one minute,_ she told herself, _just until she'd recovered and her lungs stopped hurting, and then she'd go and help the others… _

David turned to flash her a toothy grin when he'd accomplished his task, and she couldn't help but smile back, giving him thumbs up as he wiped the gore off his blade on the ogre's breeches.

XXXxxxXXX

Rumpelstiltskin tossed over the magic mirror in blind fury, and it crashed deafeningly to the ground, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the Hall and the entire castle as though a bolt of lightning had struck during a terrible storm at the end of summer and collapsed a tower, or the roof. He'd been gazing at the image in the looking-glass for a second too long, and the sight of the still-smiling Evil Queen had made all the pent up fury inside him spill over.

Although shattering the mirror may not have been the smartest thing he'd ever done, it was probably the most satisfying thing he could do for himself right at this moment. He was oddly relieved to see thousands of tiny shards spew out from the frame like silver dust and rise into the air before settling, momentarily making the room glisten and shimmer as though it was bathed in moonlight and stars reflected in the depths of a black mountain lake. It was broken, and it would never torture him again.

Regina had just finished telling him how appalled she'd been to find herself back in their world with all the ogres and wolves that were out there in some kind of infinite forest. She was just about to propose a bargain to him about helping her to get Henry to remember her when she returned to the World Without Magic when he'd found that he could bear no more of her.

All that he'd been selectively hearing, and all that remained of what she'd been talking about to him were names such as _Bae_ and _Belle_, and words like _cold_ and _hungry _and_ virtually unarmed_…

_They were here_, he thought, and that meant they were in trouble.

His mind screamed and he swore under his breath as he frantically raked his hair and tried to steady himself sufficiently to be able to start figuring out how he was going to find them. There was a reason they called Regina the Evil Queen, and this was it, he told himself, still contemplating how he was going to find herand kill her for this.

He'd been called many things in his life, and none of them were very flattering, but he would never have left all those people out there without at least pointing them in some direction that would get them on their way. He wouldn't have simply left anybody to the monsters; but then again, he'd left them to _her_ when he'd left Storybrooke. He'd trusted that she'd do right by them.

And Maleficent… he'd have to take care of that fairy once and for all if and when he got his hands around her neck, and he'd make sure she'd be very sorry that she'd ever met him. Just as sorry as he'd make Regina.

XXXxxxXXX

Snow's final arrow missed the ogre she was combatting and lodged in a tree behind it as the monster lunged itself at her, and she screamed David's name as she half-turned and began running for her life towards him, trying not to get herself bludgeoned to death. Hearing her voice, he span around and saw her, but lost his footing and fell backwards into the freezing water.

Catching on to what was happening, Belle reacted instantly; she deftly pulled one arrow after the other from the quiver on her back and determinedly fired them at the furious ogre's face while Red sank to her knees in the thicket, her eyes glowing golden as the last rays of daylight waned and dusk fell upon them.

Belle's arrows all missed their target in the gloom, several bouncing back as though she'd been flicking matchsticks at it, but one embedded itself in the creature's cheek. Raging and bellowing, it raised its club high above its head, uprooting the trees to its right, and timbre went flying through the air as it charged at her, forgetting about Snow, who'd tripped and fallen almost right in front of its feet, losing her bow. It paid her no heed, though, as if it had suddenly realized that it had never been after her in the first place. Snow huddled down and made herself small, covering her head with her arms, waiting for death as it literally bounded over her back, leaving her behind to give chase to Belle. Belle, aware that she was by no means a fast runner and with hardly any arrows left, decided to make a run for cover and took off back into the forest.

_Too slow,_ _too slow,_ she kept thinking as she ran, _too slow_ _and too clumsy to hit what was right in front of her – but above all, too slow… _

Red's wolf emerged leaping from the brush then, and she hurled herself at the ogre, loping about lithely between its feet, snapping and digging razor sharp teeth into hard leathery skin, drawing blood and tearing out whole chunks of flesh. She definitely had its attention, and this gave Belle a better chance to gain some ground going uphill, while David recovered from his plunge into the numbingly cold water, pulled himself to the shore and ran for Snow, loosing precious seconds dragging her to her feet and checking if she was alright – which she wasn't, not really – before going after them.

XXXxxxXXX

Speed was of the essence, the sorcerer told himself and he tried to make himself forget about Regina, but he had no idea where to start looking for the others. The forest he'd found himself in when he'd returned to this world was one huge labyrinth designed to keep people within its bowels indefinitely, and the fact that it was winter lessened the chances of survival of any unprepared and unarmed person that found themselves facing ogres and wolves there considerably.

He guessed that they would have been out there for several weeks now, and he knew he had to find them fast. If he wasn't already too late. And if this wasn't a trick of some sort… But, no, he decided that Regina might be stupid, but she wouldn't be _this_ stupid. Or this suicidal.

Waving a hand at the secret vault under the oversized painting at the far end of the Great Hall, he willed it to open. The painting itself seemed to swirl in a kaleidoscope of colors for a moment, and then it faded away completely, uncovering the safe behind it. Its door came unlocked and swung back on its hinges. Not having even thought to look what had remained inside the concealed space where he'd kept the things that were of most value to him before the curse, he wasn't sure if he would find what he was looking for, but it was there: the crystal ball. Only it was broken.

He took out the wooden holder it had been fixed to and closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw his son standing where he stood right now, weeks before, taking out the magical object from the hidden safe and looking for Emma, making her face appear in the glass by using the blood magic he'd taught him. This was how Bae had known that she was in Neverland, as they all had been, and he'd accidentally brushed it off the table as he had turned to tell Robin that he would be in need of his help in getting there. Robin had picked up the pieces and put them absent-mindedly back into the vault, which had sealed up again automatically after Bae had gone. He'd get no information from this, but there had to be something else, he thought. There had to be.

Wrestling down the creeping, immobilizing despair within, he knew he had to get a hold of himself. The thought that Belle and Bae could be caught in that death trap out in the woods had never occurred to him before he'd seen Regina, and he could only hope that they were taking care of each other. At least neither of them would have to go it alone. The Shepherd Prince would not be the one to lead them or anyone else out of the Unending Forest, but Bae and Belle were together, and that was something. Provided that they had not gotten separated somehow since Regina had left them.

They would have to be on the move and fighting; so many of them having been returned here from Storybrooke all at once and making noise that would consistently attract attention to them, consistently endanger them… That meant no chance for cover, no good shelter, and no way to keep warm because they'd only have the clothes on their backs that they'd brought with them. Swords, daggers and self-made bows and arrows against the ogres, wolves and whatever else was out there, he thought, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly, rubbing them with the pads of his fingers.

"Think," he told himself, "_Think!_"

They would not be summoning him because they did not know he was here, so that possibility of finding them had to be ruled out.

He carelessly began sifting through the other contents of the vault, starting with the bottom shelf. Finding nothing that would be of any use to him, he grew increasingly impatient and brusquely started swiping things out of the nook in the wall and onto the floor as he rummaged and dug his way through all of the things that had once seemed so important him.

_Rubbish, the lot of it,_ he realized, _useless, impractical garbage._

Soon, there was nothing left to fling out, nothing left to break or smash – almost nothing.

On the topmost shelf, at the very back where he didn't see it right away, there was a small, plain wooden box, and it took him a moment to remember what it held. A wave of relief washed over him as he flipped the lid off, discovering that the ring he'd put in it so long ago was still there; the twin of the golden wedding band he'd given Belle.

XXXxxxXXX

Bae could hardly see Belle or the ogre from where he was through the dense undergrowth, but he had one more arrow left, and he knew he had make it count. Carefully positioning himself and concentrating, he drew back the bow string and took aim once again.

They had slain at least two dozen of the gigantic creatures within the last weeks, but the more they killed, the more seemed to come crawling out of those mountains. He was starting to wish Regina had stayed with them as he followed the ogre's movements with the arrowhead, trying to keep himself aligned with his target on instinct and taking into account the direction of the wind that was freshening up. This was exactly the moment Belle decided to face her fears and turn back, aiming high with everything she had in one shot – her last two arrows took flight, and she sent a silent prayer out to the heavens that one of them would hit home.

Bae released the bowstring at the same moment that Belle did. One arrow of three hit the creature's dull pupil dead center, killing it instantly, but it was impossible to say whose this had been when the creature's cadaver fell forward heavily against two fair-sized pines that snapped near the base and crashed to the ground beneath its weight.

He couldn't see Belle anywhere when the woods fell silent, but Bae assumed that she was somewhere close by. She must have had enough sense to double back to the river, he told himself, descending from the slope towards the site where the ogre lay. He'd just missed her. It was getting dark, and he wanted to get back to the others quickly – they would have attracted plenty of attention, and they needed to find a safe place.

"Belle?" he yelled, and listened intently as he descended from the scarp. "Belle!"

XXXxxxXXX

The sorcerer had always kept Belle's ring on him to remember her by after the Evil Queen had deceived him by making him believe she was dead, but this was the one he would have worn himself after he'd made his vows to Belle if he'd ever found it amongst his possessions in Storybrooke. He would never have taken it off, and it would have told him she was alive and close by weeks ago. It would have taken him straight to her because he'd cast the same enchantment on them both when he'd made them, and he was ever so glad that he'd given Belle hers the night before he'd died in the other world.

He was almost sure that she would still be wearing it, so he slipped his on and watched as it began to glow very weakly, turning from gold to a soft, warm shade of red, telling him he was right.

It was still on her finger, and it would find its counterpart.

XXXxxxXXX

Coming around the ogre's carcass and the trees it had brought down with it, Bae saw Red's wolf standing over her body; Belle was hopelessly trapped underneath one of the trunks and not moving. His heart stilled, and he stopped in his tracks behind the shifter as she changed back to her human self, crouching down over her friend's form. Her eyes were wide, and she was shivering when she furiously started pulling and tearing at the branches that were lying across Belle's face and torso, screaming her name without getting a reaction.

When there was no more she could do about the branches, she knelt and started stroking back the damp hair from the trapped woman's pale brow, soothingly whispering that everything was going to be alright.

Gauging the situation, Bae could see that Red knew she was lying – _nothing_ was going be alright, quite obviously, and he forced one foot in front of the other to join her there, taking off his own cloak to cover her.

He knew that even between them, they didn't have a hope of moving the tree trunk that was pinning Belle to the forest floor – not with the lifeless ogre's bulk bearing down on it on the other end. The fact that she was still alive at all was just short of a miracle, but they were in the Enchanted Forest now, and not in a world where you could call 911. The only thing they could do for her was stay with her for as long as would take; fixing his gaze to her unfocussed eyes and placing a gentle hand on Red's shoulder, he felt that this would not be long.

"We have to get this off of her," Red told him decisively when she snapped back at his touch and became aware of his presence. Wrapping her arms around the tree, she tried to raise herself to her feet, but he held her down, hugging her to him.

"No," he told her softly, "no, love, you're hurting Belle… this is all we can do for her," and drew them both as close as they could get to the broken figure on the forest floor.

It was dark by the time Snow and David had made their way up the bluff, calling out to them, even though they could distinctly hear more ogres approaching.

David, drenched to the bone and shivering with cold, stood quietly beside Snow and watched her face as she stared dolefully at the pale, defeated body under the tree trunk, and he thought that this was not how it was meant to be. He was heartbroken and sorry beyond words for Belle, but he was also afraid for Snow; he had been ever since they'd reappeared in these pits of this hell, and a small part of him was grateful that this wasn't his wife lying underneath that pine tree. It wasn't _this time_, but it _could_ have been. It could be Snow tomorrow. This wasn't how their lives were meant to end. This was not how _any_ life was meant to end.

XXXxxxXXX

Robin was standing in the doorway to the room where his son slept peacefully, watching Roland dream when the sorcerer appeared next to him, startling him.

"We're in a hurry," Rumple told him softly, but curtly.

"Are we now?" the archer queried as he closed the door quietly so the boy would not be woken. "A little late for hunting ogres, don't you think? It's getting dark."

"We're not hunting ogres. We're looking for some people in the Unending Forest."

"Told you you'd be in need of my knowledge and capabilities," Robin smirked, walking beside him down the corridor towards the main stairwell.

"I don't need a guide," the sorcerer returned, hesitating before he added, "I need you at my back."

Robins eyes widened incredulously. Since when did the Dark One need anyone to watch his back? "What are you expecting to find?"

"Oh, I don't expect to find much out of the ordinary. Perhaps an ogre or five, a troll or a wolf… But I might get distracted," Rumple explained, the possibility of this being a trap still somewhere in the back of his mind. He'd be no good to anybody if he was dead.

"It happens at my age," he went on, a sarcastic undertone in his voice. "And, just in case I do, I need you to watch my back and keep the monsters, arrows, daggers or whatever would be waiting out there for us off of it."

"Oh, come _on_," Robin persisted, giving a small laugh. He still couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I once shot an arrow into your chest, and you pulled it straight out."

"Well, I might not be quite as… imperishable these days as I was then," Rumple snapped, "And I _am_ getting a little reckless, or I wouldn't even be here now, would I?"

Before the bowman could respond to that, he put his hand on Robin's shoulder to establish the physical contact he needed to teleport them both, and using the ring to guide the way by anchoring it to Belle's, both men vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

Looking around and listening intently to get his bearings when the sorcerer rematerialized in the darkness of the forest with Robin at his side, he nearly missed the four human shapes huddled down around a fifth on the ground almost right at his feet.

There were at least two ogres approaching rapidly from the west, and they would be upon them soon, but Rumpelstiltskin decided that the pack of wolves coming at them with the rising fog from the direction of the river bank below needed to be dealt with more urgently by far. Hurling fireballs at them, he started lighting up the entire brush until everything around them seemed to be in flames.

Snow gaped at the dark figures looming over them, scattering the beasts that were attacking them with fireballs and arrows that ignited when they were employed by their bowman, but she couldn't see either of their faces or take the measure of their intent. Her own quiver was empty, as was Bae's, and they were all so worn out and hurting inside and out that she'd been sure they were lost.

_How could any of this be happening to them?_ she asked herself as the black magician and his archer moved lithely around them and set the night ablaze, and everything burned.

* * *

_**Next up: snowflakes in hell...**_


	9. Evanescence

_**Thank you for your continued support and reviews: cynicsquest and Twyla Mercedes!**_

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9. Evanescence

Belle couldn't hear what was going on very clearly. She was too tired to listen to what Red and Bae were telling her, and there was a gushing noise above the whistling sound in her ears that was always distracting her, so she gave up trying and watched the snowflakes floating gracefully down from the heavens above. Most of them piled up on the bare black branches of the tree crowns she'd trained her eyes on and began blanketing them in white, but some drifted towards her gently to caress her skin and melt on her cheeks.

They were beyond beautiful, she thought, but she didn't feel the cold moisture they were made of; she didn't feel anything unpleasant for the first time in weeks as she lay there quietly, resting. She'd been freezing and uncomfortable for so long now, it was quite a blessing to be as snug and cozy as she was now. Nothing pained or troubled her, and nothing mattered anymore. There was no need to get up, and there was nowhere to go.

Her mind wandered off, and it caught on an image of Rumple. Her visual of him was very strong and vivid; she could see his face in its every detail as though he was there with her. Every crinkle around his eyes when he smiled and every line that would appear around his mouth when he laughed gave her a sense of finally being _home_.

She could hear him saying her name the way that he always had when he'd become aware of her presence in a room with him: softly, breathlessly, and almost as if he was expecting her to disappear in front of his eyes – like a prayer for hope. Picking up on the nuances in how he'd tended to speak to her had always made her wonder if that was what she'd meant to the man within the beast… _Hope_… It was what he'd meant to her, what he'd _always_ meant to her, even before she'd said his name out loud to summon him all those years ago in Avonlea. There had seemed to be no more hope then, but he'd revived it.

"Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin…" she whispered, just to hear herself say it one more time.

She knew he wouldn't appear because this time she'd be the one who'd have to come to him – she would have to find him, this time. She would, though, and she'd be with him soon, she thought. Her own prayers would be answered.

_Where to start looking, _she mused, but it wasn't long before another vision began to take shape, showing her the way.

In the picture that was forming in that part of her brain that was capable of bringing together her last reserves, she saw a bright, sun-drenched clearing in the middle of a green spring orchard in May. The trees were laden with blossoms, and the sweet smell of them hung lightly in the air. She saw the spinner there, or maybe a younger, less haunted version of Gabriel Gold, and he was cradling their newborn in his arms.

Their little boy was wrapped in a soft, pale blue blanket, and Rumple was looking at his son's face affectionately, the love he felt for the child illuminating his features like nothing she'd ever seen before. He looked so happy, so at ease with himself, so very much at peace with his heart, and this was how she wanted to see him. This was what she'd wanted for him since she'd started loving him, and she couldn't wait to be with her husband and their baby.

_Just a few more moments,_ she told herself, taking a cautious first step in their direction, and she could feel the warm, dry grass yield to her weight beneath her bare feet. It felt good, it felt real, and it felt right.

Nothing hurt, and nothing bothered her.

She wasn't afraid.

She would have run rather than walked to him only a day ago, but she wasn't running anymore now. There was no reason to.

They had all the time in the world.

White cherry blossom petals were dancing through the air, swirling and coasting along softly on a mild breeze, not unlike the snowflakes that were kissing her lips where her body lay. They made the whole fruit garden look like a snow globe, reminding her of one she'd been sent by some distant relative or other for her birthday as a girl in her father's castle.

There had been several birthday gifts of snow globes throughout her childhood, and she'd loved every one of them. Each had held a different scene depicting an artist's impression – or expression – of a season of the year. She'd been given four in all until she'd been old enough to read, which was when she'd started getting books from her considerate relative to spark her imagination instead.

The orb she was thinking of now, though, had been like a painting by Claude Monet, whose work she'd admired decades later in her library in the World Without Magic. She remembered looking at a book of illustrations by the painter with Rumple. The tome they'd pored over at her desk had held a print of a family picnicking in an orchard very similar to the one she imagined she was standing in now, and she recalled soft, flowing shades of greens, unobtrusive yellows and whites, and movement in the elements of which the scene was composed, whether she'd shaken the glass or not. There had been magic in it, as much as there had been beauty.

She'd felt happy whenever she'd looked at the depiction, and she was happy tonight when she found that she could at last begin to put one foot in front of the other towards her family now that happiness was becoming reality.

XXXxxxXXX

Her face was smooth and relaxed; Belle looked like she was dreaming a pleasant dream of warmth and kindness with her eyes open, Red thought, holding her cool hand. The shifter was incessantly rubbing it although she was aware that there was nothing she could do to banish the cold.

She felt broken, but they were all broken tonight, and she wondered whether any of them would survive to see the dawn when the Black Magician's fireballs began flying over their heads and in every direction, lighting up the forest around them.

At first, there was panic; panic that she'd be forced to leave Belle to die here alone, and panic that they were all going to die here now. However, she soon grasped that they were not being attacked – well, not by the magician whipping out the fireballs – they were being _protected _from the timber wolves that were coming at them from the river. They wouldn't have stood a chance against the creatures as things were, and this had to be the miracle Granny had been telling her to hope for. This had to be Destiny letting them know they were not on their own.

Oddly enough, the shifter's senses were alerting her to the probability that she knew the sorcerer who was defending them; she recognized the smell of him because it had been all over Belle when they had returned to the Enchanted World… but… Gabriel Gold was dead. She'd seen the pawnbroker end his own life to save them all, and in the World Without Magic _dead was dead_.

Her eyes incredulously followed the shape darting about in the dark, and she rose to her feet. Then, all at once, he was beside her, and was looking right at her for a second before his glance wandered past her and to the unmoving body of the woman he loved.

The intensity of the shock and the anguish in his eyes when he took in what had happened to Belle frightened Red profoundly, but it was his eyes that told her it really was him, even if the creature she perceived didn't resemble Gold in the least. She'd never met Rumpelstiltskin before the curse, but this was him, and she was sure that he was going to help Belle, perhaps help all of them.

XXXxxxXXX

Bae had the feeling Belle wasn't really aware of what was going on around them anymore, but he wanted to tell her what was in his heart anyway even as the wolves advanced and the forest started catching fire. This was one of the most important things he was ever going to do, he thought: staying with her even when everything burned. Goodbyes were all that remained.

"I'm so sorry," he told her, feeling sick to his stomach as smoke and cinders began to mix in with the falling snow, an ashen rain smudging her cheeks. "I wish I could have helped you," and kissed her brow. "I know I'll see you again."

When he became mindful of Red rising to her feet, he forced himself to follow and find out what was going on. He didn't want to let Belle out of his sight, but Snow and Charming were already standing back to back next to Red. They had only one sword between the four of them, nothing besides, and all hell was breaking loose.

He half turned to look in the direction Red was staring in, still unwilling to move away from Belle, and suddenly found himself face to face with his father, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air just behind him. He was speechless, and for a moment he was absolutely sure that his mind was showing him what it felt he most desperately needed to see. The image it had conjured of Rumpelstiltskin had to be a product of the stress he was experiencing, he assumed. He'd spent centuries trying to escape Neverland, but he was finally going mad _here, _in the place of his birth.

This was the price of magic, and everybody had to pay it, in the end, one way or the other.

His father was dead.

But… here he was here, standing right in front of him anyway.

"Papa…?" he said, and the sorcerer's gold-dusted hand reached out to brush his cheek very briefly before he pushed past him to bend down over Belle.

Bae noticed that the ring he was wearing on his finger turned from red to black, and he took a few steps back, pulling a protesting Red along with him. Rumpelstiltskin tapped a finger on the tree trunk that was trapping Belle, blew on it, and observed as it began to change from its solid form to a silvery power that dispersed on the wind in slow motion like fine, granulate moonlight, glistening in the air and momentarily displacing the darkness where they were standing.

He realized that his father was delaying time because Belle's time had all but run out, and he watched him tenderly cupping her face in his hands and fix his glance to hers intently. All around them, however, the seconds his father was stealing were melting away into minutes, and Bae knew it was necessary to return his attention to his surroundings as his father got started on cheating his old friend, Death, once again and healing Belle.

XXXxxxXXX

Snow knew the man – or the beast – who'd appeared in their midst. There wasn't a doubt in her mind when she saw him crouching down to Belle. She had no idea how he came to be there, but she didn't give a damn. He was there, and that was all that mattered.

The archer who'd accompanied him was picking off the wolves that were charging at them from the river one by one, and Snow wished she had the firepower to help him. She was sick of being powerless, sick of getting by – she wanted to be able to _do something_ and regain control of this so she'd not be swept away by her anger at Fate. The very second this thought had taken form in her thoughts, she felt the new weight of her quiver on her back as it refilled, and she instinctively pulled the first arrow from it. Its head ignited when she engaged it, tugging back the bowstring, and it exploded like a hand grenade when it hit the timber wolf she'd aimed it at, tearing the vicious creature apart.

Charming and Bae must both have been thinking of swords just then, Snow supposed, because two of the finest blades she'd ever seen unexpectedly materialized in their hands. Instead of folded steel, they appeared to be made of blazing blue fire; they were well-balanced and light, and they cut through flesh and bone like butter, separating the approaching wolves from limbs and heads so easily that Snow's hope was restored as she watched the men wielding their magical weapons effortlessly. They were going to win this battle, and they were going to live.

XXXxxxXXX

Realizing that Red was reluctant to venture far from Belle, Rumpelstiltskin armed her with a spear that would always return to its master after meeting its mark. He was certain that Robin and she would have Belle and him covered, and he faded out everything that was happening around him completely, concentrating only on Belle.

He'd spent a lifetime loving her, and he wasn't about to watch her die here now that he'd found her again before she had ever really lived. She didn't deserve this. If only he'd been here quicker, this would never have happened, he told himself.

Mercifully, she wasn't conscious, and he efficiently moved his hands over her body, reaching into it with his mind in searching for the worst of the injuries the fallen tree trunk had inflicted, but he discovered that it wasn't as easy to do as it had been before the curse. He'd healed a thousand broken bones and closed a thousand fatal wounds, but he hardly knew where to start when he looked down at Belle. Nothing was easy anymore, and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to help her.

There was so much blood… what if he missed something, what if he couldn't find the cause for all that blood?

Gently placing one hand on her ribcage just below her heart and pushing the other underneath her back. He began mumbling his spells out loud to add to their volume, and a green light emitted from between his fingers as his magic began to work on her broken backbone and ribs, mending the lacerations and stopping what internal bleeding he could locate.

She opened her eyes when her lungs began to clear and fill with air again, but she didn't perceive him; she was unfocussed and unresponsive, and he realized that this wasn't going the way he'd hoped it would.

There was something wrong, he could feel it… and he could feel that she was lacking the will to take what he was giving her of himself. She was drifting away even when he'd gladly take the price of her life upon himself. Magic worked when you believed that it would, but she no longer did. There was someplace else she longed to be, and Death was a talent at making tempting offers to the desperately tired.

She _was_ desperately tired, he comprehended to his despair.

Just then, one of the black wolves Robin shot out of mid-leap almost landed on top of them, forcing him to shield Belle with his body, and Red yelled at him what he was already thinking when he lugged the stinking carcass off of his back.

"You need to get her out of here," she implored him, and he nodded, looking up at the filthy, blood-smeared face of the shifter.

He most certainly did, because there was nothing to believe in out here; nothing but death. This was hell by night, and the night could be long in a place like this. Quickly slipping off the blue signet ring he'd been wearing ever since Red had known Gabriel Gold, he tossed it to her, and she caught it, casting him a quizzical glance.

"You come find me when you're through here," he told her hoarsely when she arched her eyebrows at him.

"You and your people will be safe at my castle. Give this to your prince. He'll know what to do with it, should you lose Robin." David would remember, Rumple thought, because the Shepherd Prince knew that an enchanted ring such as this would always find its rightful owner if it was anchored to him by need, even in an Unending Forest.

He glanced up at Robin, and the archer resolutely motioned him to go.

Robin had already guessed that he wouldn't be traveling back to the castle with the sorcerer by magic, and he could see that Rumpelstiltskin's face was fraught with worry over the hopelessly defeated woman in his arms.

The bowman remembered Belle, although he'd hardly recognized her when he'd first laid eyes on her tonight, and his heart went out to the brave young maiden who'd saved his life once upon a time… and to the magician who loved her.

He'd do the same, he thought, he'd take her _home_. He _had_ done the same when Marian had been ill while she'd been carrying Roland; he'd left his men to fend for themselves, and he'd risked his life to steal the magic to save her with. He'd have done _anything_ to save his wife. She'd died a year later anyway, and he didn't wish this kind of fate on anyone, but he'd had that year all the same. He'd do it again.

There was something else, though: Robin assumed that had to be more people in these woods than the five haggard, worn-out, souls they'd come across here, pitting themselves against an entire forest full of monsters. It would make sense because there had to be a reason why these five had been doing what they were doing, and he wondered just how many refugees there would be, and what kind of shape they'd be in. Going on what he was observing here, he didn't think they'd be too good, and he hoped they'd had the sense to hide. Bringing them to safety would indeed prove to be a challenge, he decided, but he was determined to play his part. Raising his bow, he engaged another arrow as the earth began to shake with the footsteps of the nearing ogres who'd been alerted by the noise they'd been making fighting off the wolves.

From the corner of his eye, he observed the sorcerer straightening up cautiously, holding Belle to him, and she seemed as fragile and as evanescent as a snowflake in his palm. He was speaking to her softly, but Robin thought that she was past hearing him, and he was strangely relieved to see the man vanish with her before the first of the mountain trolls came into sight - even if it would only be to mourn her.

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_**Next up: Of Dreams And Awakenings - a magical wand will be rediscovered and do its work...**_


	10. True Love's Magic

_**Thank your for reviewing: cynicsquest, Twyla Mercedes, woodland 59 and NobodyToo; I appreciate your encouraging comments, and I'm glad you're enjoying this!**_

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10. True Love's Magic

A gust of freezing air threw open the tall, dark double winged doors of the old castle with a startling bang, almost like an explosion, and Rumpelstiltskin swiftly entered, carrying Belle in his arms. His wet hair clung to his head as the melting slush trickled in runnels down his nose and chin, and the snowflakes that coated the cloak he was wearing in white, thick on his shoulders and back, gave him the appearance of someone who'd not stop for smalltalk when he passed John Little in the Hall.

The big man who'd been on guard duty for most of the day followed him a way, uncertain of what would be expected of him, of what to do and what to best leave be. He watched the older man heading directly for the main staircase before he turned back to shut out the icy wind and sleet that was slanting into the building, sliding about on the sludge that covered the floor in the entranceway already.

The sorcerer hardly noticed the barefooted boy on the steps as he pushed past him, taking two treads at a time. Roland had woken and noticed his father's absence when he'd gone looking for him. His "aunty" Bertha, who'd brought Roland into this world and tended to Marian for the duration of her illness, had ushered him back to his bed three or four times that evening before finally giving up in light of the mending, patching and sewing that had still been waiting for her attention in the kitchens. This was what the women did many a stormy night by the light of the fire that was burning in the hearth, while the men who weren't on duty worked at the long table in the center of the room, carving arrowheads from horn or flint and making new shafts to fix them to, and it took up a large portion of their time in a world without a Walmart or a Woolworth's to buy what they needed and replace what was lost.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't actually been gone for very long, but he felt like it had taken him forever to bring Belle home. It was as though he'd been carrying her across realms and time instead of just a few miles of frosted landscape, and he'd had to lift the castle's magical protection to do so for all the spells he'd been trying on her. Yet, she hadn't healed the way he'd hoped she would, and he was worried that she might leave this life before she'd even know she was _home_.

"Where's my Papa?" the boy interrupted his line of thought, jumping to his feet and giving chase.

"He should be back by tomorrow night," the sorcerer replied curtly and without slowing, although he could sense the boy's fears from the alarmed tone in his voice.

Just then, Bertha scuttled out into the stairwell to find out what was going on. She'd been wondering where Robin had gone and why, and taking note that he hadn't returned with the magician unsettled her tremendously as she rushed after the boy.

"Sire…?" she called out, and this time, the sorcerer stopped. Her breath caught when he half turned and she saw the blood, the mud and the ghostly paleness of the inanimate young woman he was cradling in his arms.

"My wife has been hurt," the Lord of the Castle informed the old handmaid of a king long dead and buried on the grounds of the Evil Queen's palace. "Get the boy to bed," he ordered her, "he needn't see this," and she could feel his trepidation.

She hurried up the final steps that separated her from her charge and grasped the lad firmly by the shoulders to steer him away. "Of course, my Lord," she mumbled as several of the women she'd been sewing with cautiously peered up at them from the Hall below.

Rumple paid them no heed; there was nothing any one of them could do but stand in his way. He brought Belle up the remaining steps and carried her through the corridors of the East Wing to his bedroom. The torches that were mounted on the walls in wrought iron fasteners lit up one after the other as he walked by, as though the castle was responding to its master, and the door opened for him before he'd reached it.

Belle had not stirred in a while. He put her down on his bed, his clever fingers gently resuming their examination of her body for fractured bones and ruptured organs once again. He was strangely worn out by the magic he had performed in these last hours, and his hands were trembling as they roamed over her neck and torso. He knew he would not be able to fix everything because he had to _see_ what was hurt if he wanted to be able to heal it... He no longer had that Gift, and he was no physician and no god. He could turn ogres to stone and butchers into pigs, masons to snails and put glass slippers on Cinderella, but he could not bring the breath of life back into people once they were past a certain amount of physical damage that had started to drain on the spirit; past the point where they'd be willing and ready to go with his old companion, Death. That was the character of his magic: he couldn't heal a soul.

His brand of magic was Darkness, while life itself was a force that thrived on Light, and dying was a matter of the soul's desire to pass into that Light since it could not and would not exist in shadows alone. The healthy human soul shied away from Darkness by nature because Darkness was always accompanied by Fear. In the end, all life consented to its passing, since Death, unlike Darkness, was not akin to Fear. He felt that Belle had already met Death and surrendered to the promise of Light his old friend was bringing a while before he had found her in the woods, under that tree. She did not know and did not feel that it was the sorcerer who had been carrying her, that it was _his_ arms she'd been lying in, and his heart that was beating for her. Rumpelstiltskin was fighting a losing battle, and his hopes of cheating Death were fading. They both knew each other too well.

Roland, who had escaped Bertha's attention once again, came and stood behind the sorcerer silently, not daring to touch him. Rumple could not look at him. He was done searching for the injuries his spells and enchantments could treat, and he tried to hide the shaking of his hands by holding them down in his lap, shutting down the lines of thought that would have sent him into a desperate, flying craze had he not had years of learning to contain himself around Belle – a great job he'd done at that, in the end, when he'd sent her away last time they'd been in this place together – and years regret and mourning after that. He owed her a respectful farewell, and he would sit with her quietly until she passed before he tore this world apart. Alone.

"Go away," he told the boy, broken.

But the boy who rarely ever did as he was told found his courage. He came around to the sorcerer's side, crouched down to make himself small enough so as not to awaken the impression of being a nuisance worth kicking at, and held out a long, slender package swathed in a rough, discolored fabric.

"What's this?" Rumpelstiltskin demanded, paying attention for the first time as the essence of the magic beneath the cloth reached out to him. He sensed that there was something important there, something needful and good, and it was calling to him to make use of it.

"This healed my mother when she was ill before I was born," Roland offered in the way of an explanation when the sorcerer took the bundle from his hands. "It doesn't work anymore… but maybe you can fix it."

Rumple unwrapped it carefully, willing his hands to still so he wouldn't drop the linen-swaddled object. It took him a moment to comprehend the act of providence it held when he revealed its contents as Death silently began to recede into the farthest, gloomiest corner of the room. It was the glass wand Robin had stolen from him ages ago, and it began to glow a soft blue upon his caress, making Roland's eyes widen in awe.

Neither the man nor the boy perceived Bertha or John whispering in the doorway at their backs, nor were they aware of the people gathering in the hallway outside, waiting to see what would happen as hope revived within the sorcerer. The wand, he marveled, _the_ wand he'd never have believed to see again after Belle had subtly convinced him to give it up for the love of a man for his wife.

It was made of hope and moonlight and other things that Darkness could not touch; he'd not been able to use it before himself because its core contained nothing but the love that its wielder poured into it. It had to be True Love, and there had never been any kind of love in him before in his time as the Dark One; certainly not True Love. But, there was love now, and he had nothing else to give Belle than this, he realized, as the short, delicate staff began to warm and hum in the palm of his hand. Darkness could not heal a soul, but Love could, and he hoped there was enough of it, and that it was true.

His breath hitched when the wand's glow increasingly gained intensity, as if in answering his unspoken question. Allowing the raggedy fabric that had wrapped this precious treasure to slide to the floor at his feet, and he slowly started to move it around just over Belle's body, softly murmuring things the lad could not understand and the others could not hear.

The sorcerer's anxious and strained face relaxed and he felt relief wash over him as he watched Belle's eyes flutter. He observed that her skin was regaining its natural color underneath all those layers of dirt and gore her days and weeks of fighting and running, hiding and killing and falling, ever falling, had brought with it. Her chest began to rise and sink steadily now, and she started to breathe evenly.

After a moment, the wand he was still clutching went back to its dormant milky white, and he put it down carefully, not taking his eyes off Belle for longer than it took to see Death off as his old acquaintance blended back through the wall and out into the bitter winter night in his wake.

_Not yet, my friend_, he told him, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him, and Death smiled back knowingly.

_Soon, though,_ he replied in a chilly whisper, _I'll be back. I always am. _

Belle gave a small sigh, and he returned his stare to her face, but she did not awaken. That didn't trouble him; sleep was a very kind way of shutting out the cold and the hurt, and she would need all of the sleep she could get, so he let her rest. He felt his own weariness bogging him down, though, and he did his best to banish the lingering thought that Death had left him with from his mind. Sliding off the edge of the bed, he fell to his knees and laid his head on the covers by her elbow so he'd feel her move whenever she would.

Bertha picked up on his drawn and empty appearance, and she suddenly felt sympathy for both him and the woman he'd referred to as his wife, though she could see that Belle was resting now and seemingly out of danger.

She shooed away the boy and closed the door on the onlookers, deciding that she could not leave these two like this. There were things that magic could do, and things that human care could manage all on its own.

She'd already told John what she needed from the kitchen, but she felt unsure of herself once she was alone in the room with the Dark One. He was strange, and he was intimidating, and no matter how often she told herself that he was the one who'd ensured their survival by the spells he'd cast on this castle and the compassion he'd shown them by letting them stay after his return, he still frightened her. The stories she'd been told as a child had not failed their intentions, and it was hard to erase the images they brought forth. She was hesitant in approaching him lest her presence and good will would be unwelcome. After a moment's consideration, however, she timidly put one hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch in a more human way than she would have accredited him.

"I – I know I'm overstepping," she mumbled haltingly. "I know you don't need my help. But I'm going to help you anyway now, my Lord," she said kindly.

Not getting a reply, she unclasped the fastening of his cloak, and to his surprise, he permitted her to. She helped him out of the chain armor he would not have been able to get off himself tonight, and she pushed a chair over next to him, so he could get up off the floor and sit as she pulled off his mucky boots. John Little brought a washing basin with warm water and some rags, and Bertha tore one of the bigger ones into strips, soaked it in the water and handed it to him so he could wash his face and hands.

Then she started on Belle, carefully shifting her about to free her from the damp and dirty cape she was wearing, but he stopped her after a moment when Belle winced, skilled as the older woman had gone about it.

"I'll do that myself," he said, and she nodded and left him alone.

He took great care gently removing her filthy clothes with just one last spell that all but exhausted everything he had left in him, and then covered her with downy blankets so she would not be cold as he washed her with a warm cloth and soapy water from the basin. His gentle hands barely brushed her skin, and he made sure to dry her well with the soft towels he found on the vanity. He dressed her in a silvery gown, and when he was finished, he lay down on the other side of the bed next to her, watching over her slumber before he closed his eyes. _Just for a moment,_ he told himself. _Just for a little while._ He had cheated Death here, but he knew he'd have to go find the others soon. But not this minute, not when he was this tired and wouldn't be any good to them.

What was she going to think when she awoke, he wondered. How was she going to deal with this? He drifted off, thinking of the one and only night they had spent together in the same bed in their entire time.

They had made love, slowly and intensely… Afterwards, she had snuggled up to him, molding her back to his chest, all warmth and contentment; sticky, slick skin and the sweet scent of her filling his nose. He had conjured a star-filled sky above them where the whitewashed ceiling should have been, and she had turned in his arms to gaze up at it, smiling, and she'd told him how beautiful it was. He'd made a comet appear and soar across the firmament.

"Make a wish," he'd teased, kissing her brow.

"I have," she'd replied, pressing herself to him. "It's already come true."

The sorcerer opened his eyes briefly and tried to remember the exact night sky and its constellations, and he made it appear for her. She would probably not see it tonight, but perhaps she'd feel that it was there, that _he_ was there.

XXXxxxXXX

The wolves kept coming at them. Snow was taking them down one after the other with Bae at her side. She was grateful for the new weapons the Dark One had left them with, and grateful that he'd taken Belle away from this, but there wasn't a bone in her body that didn't ache after the onslaught of the ogres they'd spent the last hours fighting off.

Horrified, she registered that some of the dead bodies of the creatures at her feet began to shift to human forms as they lay on the ground where they'd fallen. She tried to keep an eye out for Red, but she could hardly see anything as it was for all the thick, grey smoke and flying ashes that obscured her sight in the burning coppice around them.

None of them had ever taken so many lives before, she realized sadly when she saw another dead wolf Charming had slain change on the muddy forest floor next to her. She recognized the face of the man whose dead, cold eyes stared up at her, as did David: he was one of those who had left their group early on, shortly after Regina had.

The man had told them he'd heard rumors that his Liege Lord had been sighted by another party of lost wanderers they'd met and shared camp with for a day or so, Nottingham among them. He'd told them he wanted to go and look for King George now that he knew he was there, along with ten or twelve others who'd been comrades and soldiers at the king's court. There was no arguing with people who wanted to be on their way, so they'd wished them all good luck, glad to see the back of the king's sheriff and the shady bunch of scoundrels he travelled with.

The wolf-man hadn't been rewarded for his efforts, in the end, she thought, and wondered how many others there would be like him – and what manner of curse had befallen them, since he surely hadn't been a shifter to start with.

Ever more thick, wet snowflakes were coursing to the ground, soaking them relentlessly now, turning to water, quenching the fires and restoring pitch black darkness.

Just then, she heard a shrill whistling sound, and suddenly, the monsters began to retreat. It happened so fast that she couldn't believe their luck. She cautiously crossed the distance that separated her from Charming and leaned against him, waiting apprehensively for what was to come as Robin, Bae and Red stood with them back to back in a tight circle, trying to establish who or what was calling to the wolves, not knowing what to expect.

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_**Next up: Something wicked this way comes...**_


	11. Something Wicked

_**Thank you for your reviews and encouraging comments, as always: Twyla Mercedes, cynicsquest and woodland59! **_

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11. Something Wicked

A thick, unnatural fog began to roll in from the river, swallowing the last of the wolves and their yelping and bringing with it an eerie silence. All that was left of fire and death were smoldering heaps and the heavy-sweet sickly stench of demise. The temperature seemed to have dropped another ten degrees, Snow thought, shivering with cold and the weariness that was claiming her limbs. Something wicked was coming their way.

They'd not be able to see their hands in front of their faces if they just stayed here and waited even another five minutes, she decided, and their companions further back in the woods were not safe. David had left four or five of their remaining palace guards to lead them away from the wreckage of their campsite and as a last line of defence, but they wouldn't have gotten very far.

"We have to find the others," she urged Charming, who was absolutely still beside her, trying to listen to what the forest was telling them, and she could see his breath condensate close to his mouth, making ghostly, wispy shapes appear in the chilly air when he exhaled. He slowly turned his head towards her, and there was a wild, charged up look about his eyes. Snow recalled that she'd caught glimpses of it before, especially in these last few days, but never like this.

"I'm not sure what's happening," she said, keeping her voice low, "but it won't stop here. We have to leave, _now_."

"She's right," Robin agreed calmly, rubbing one of his arrows to his bowstring at the fletchings so that a tiny flame came into being to illuminate their space ever so sparsely. Bae followed his example, and a second flame warmed Snow's soul. "It would be wise to find the others and get them moving," the archer continued, and Bae handed his arrow to Red, reaching for the next.

"I have no idea where to," David told them, shaking his head, "and it's dark as pitch – where the hell do you think we'd go? We'd only be leading the wolves straight to them…"

"_Where to_ isn't the problem," Red interjected then, shoving the ring Rumpelstiltskin had given her under his nose, and Bae's eyes gleamed as Charming took it from her hand and inspected it by the light of her arrow, his brow creasing.

"Getting your butt in gear is," she finished, and the ring started glowing faintly as its use revealed itself to the Shepherd Prince, whose features were coming back to life when he comprehended what the luminescent blue stone in its golden setting meant for them.

"Let's go," he breathed, slipping it on his finger so he wouldn't lose it, and they began running, stumbling and falling through the darkness, away from the mist that was creeping into their bones.

XXXxxxXXX

Belle was lying on her side next to him, looking at him when the sorcerer opened his eyes, his earthy, adroit gaze turning soft as he fixed it to her clear blue contemplations.

_Whatever must she be thinking, _he asked himself for the umpteenth time in his life, but he was quite sure he would never really find out.

He did not speak because nothing he'd have to say would be right, he felt, and waited patiently for her to sort her thoughts into words, realizing that the room was bathed in the silvery light of a full moon high up in the night sky outside. It had been snowing when he'd lowered his body to the mattress to rest for just a little while, but that couldn't have been so very long ago… could it? The wind must have carried away the clouds, he thought, though the logic of that seemed quite absurd to him when the haze of his slumber lifted and the cogwheels started turning in his head. Long shadows spilled over the floor and crept eerily across the walls, as if it was important that he'd begin to make sense of the world he lived in once again. He hadn't slept for more than an hour or two during any night in forever, but he wasn't tired anymore now.

More in tune with himself than he'd been since he'd left Storybrooke, he was aware that this night might possibly be a game changer for them all; but although his son was still out there, he was stealing time as he lay there with Belle, watching her watching him. He wasn't willing to give up this moment just yet and sincerely wished that the planet would stop turning for a little while. He needed to hear her voice, and he had to tell her that everything was going to be alright because she would need to hear that from him tonight after all that she'd been through. But, he didn't have the least idea how he was going to pack any kind of explanation into the mere minutes he could afford himself with her.

The other life and all they had imagined it would be had wilted and gone to its death in the World Without Magic in an instant. They would not be able to pick up where they had left off, that much was clear. Perhaps they would not be able to pick up at all. He was mortal, but he was aware of his appearance, and he closed his eyes as if that could hide him away from her sight.

She continued staring at him, and he felt her eyes on him though he had no way of reading her now. He'd never had any way of reading her, truth be told, yet this was the most daunting he'd ever perceived the fact. She had survived weeks of hell, and she shouldn't have to find herself facing… _this_…

_Whatever must she be thinking?_

"You are always such a beautiful dream," he heard her whisper unexpectedly into the stillness. "I talk to you every night, but you never answer me. And then I wake up, and I'm alone again."

"But I _am_ here," he replied softly, hoarsely, a single tear tracking down the line of his nose and clinging to the tip before it fell on the cushion, taking but an ounce off the weight on his shoulders. He was afraid to move, but he opened his eyes, adding, "You're _not_ alone, love," and he saw that she didn't believe him.

She hesitated briefly, and reached out to him, her hand tentatively caressing his cheek and her thumb tracing the trail that his tear had left. He felt her touch like a warm summer breeze on his face, and she tremulously drew air as she took in the feel of the coarse texture of his skin.

"Am I dead?" she murmured incredulously, withdrawing slightly.

"No," he told gently her as he started to stroke back a stray strand of hair from her brow, but he stopping short all at once, painfully cognizant of the tough, calloused claw-tipped fingers he'd almost inflicted upon her. Curling them into the palm of his hand, hard, he didn't think that he had any right to touch her like this, no matter much he longed to. Their fairy tale had turned into a nightmare again and again – _had it ever been anything else?_ – and this was the epilogue of it; the end of his Faith and his Hope. But she was alive, and that would have to be enough.

"No, sweetheart," he repeated kindly, "you're not dead. It's going to be okay. You'll see."

They stayed as they were in reticence for a time until Belle drifted off, surmising that she _had to be_ dreaming. She didn't want to wake up, and didn't fight sleep when it overcame her, resigning herself to the blessed nothingness that took hold.

He didn't want to, but he knew he had to leave her. Belle would need her rest so she'd recover, and she'd be just fine, he told himself. She had a lot to stomach, though he had the feeling that she be would be alright as long as she stayed within these walls. He had made this place safe; it had survived his absence when he'd been a captive in Snow White's dungeons, and it had survived the curse. He could always reinforce the enchantments he'd cast on it before he left the grounds so that he could be really quite certain Belle would be protected for as long as she chose to stay, and he hoped that she would chose to stay – with or without him.

He got up, gathered his boots and armor, and left the room without making a sound, desperately wanting to think things over until they would add up to something again. If they ever would.

All was quiet in the castle, hauntingly so. Everyone was asleep, apart from two of the bowmen that were doing their rounds outside in the courtyard. An unnecessary but good exercise, especially for the heart and soul of a man at arms, Rumple mused, smiling mischievously as he strode towards them. They gave small bows, and he nodded back curtly in passing, heading for the servants' quarters.

There had never been any servants living there; not in his time. The Dark One hadn't felt a desire to have anybody come within five miles of his dwellings. He'd always been profoundly appreciative of his solitude, and his magic had catered well for his physical needs; food and drink had appeared when he'd wished for them, his clothes had been washed and pressed, and his floors had been cleaned overnight with none of the effort it cost him now. There hadn't been the slightest necessity for human help to run this place. It was still a mystery to him why he'd demanded that Belle be the price of the magic he'd work for Maurice if he was to save Avonlea from the ogre attacks.

A lot of Robin's people seemed to be more comfortable in this part of the structure than in the main building, and they'd chosen to set themselves up here even before he'd returned. He hadn't objected to that arrangement in the least. Having some of his boarders just a bit farther away from his private chambers made him feel less crowded. It took some getting used to having strangers around him, and he doubted that he ever would.

He found Bertha fast asleep in the room she shared with two other old maidens and woke her gently. She wasn't startled, as though she'd been expecting him, and he wondered if anything could upset her inborn calm.

"I have to leave. There is something that needs my attention," he informed her as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I need you to make sure my wife rests well and eats well. In light of the dangers out there, she should be dissuaded from leaving the castle grounds ."

"I'm not sure she'd be up to it anyway, milord" she mumbled in reply.

"Oh, you'd wonder…" he said, rubbing his chin, thinking of how stubbornly his Belle tended to do things her way, adamantly ignoring his every plea for better sense once she'd made up her mind to throw all caution to the wind and save the world all by herself. She was bound to be worried about her friends, and she was right to be. With any luck, though, he'd have them here by the time she'd reached the outer gates…

Bertha, meanwhile, was thinking along other lines, even though she'd seen him with her. Even though she'd watched him flinch at her pain as if he could feel it himself and even though she'd observed him break at the prospect of her passing, she couldn't help but wonder. She was raised on the stories of the Dark One's evils, and she'd heard of every kind of malice he'd imposed on the scores of innocent damsels he'd corrupted. It wasn't easy to compare the legend and the man – or whatever he was – but then again: life was full of surprises, and people were not always what others made them out to be.

"Just take good care of her," the sorcerer went on, and she hesitated before nodding, her brow furrowing, since she didn't know what to expect, exactly.

Raised herself up off the bed as he started for the door, she called after him, waking up the other two women. "Sire?" and he half turned back to her, arching his eyebrows.

"How – how would we address the young lady?" she inquired haltingly, and he drew a deep breath.

_Of course,_ he thought. _How would she know any better?_

He was the monster who'd kidnapped the Lady of Avonlea and held her captive for years before she'd finally escaped and thrown herself off the highest tower of her father's castle for the shame he'd brought upon her.

That was all anyone here knew, and he'd never cared to correct that version of events in the years that had followed. Believing her dead, he'd been as good as dead himself, and he'd gladly stayed inside that dungeon. He'd been exactly where he'd belonged, because, to his mind, he had undoubtedly caused her death. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had forgiven him, and it was unbelievable that she'd consented to marry him. She might not want to uphold the promise she'd given him in the morning, but for tonight, she was still his wife, and for tonight, he'd make sure everyone would tread lightly around her, for as much as they might fear him.

"The Lady of Avonlea did me the great honor of becoming my wife in the World Without Magic," he explained tersely and paused. Taking note of the look on the old woman's face, he opted to illiterate in case he was not making himself clear, fully turning to fix his gaze to hers.

"That would make her the Lady of _Dark Castle_, if I'm not mistaken" he told her, tilting his head, the tone of his voice mocking her as he enjoyed watching her irises widen. He hadn't come her to taunt her, but he'd ended up doing so despite himself, he discovered, remembering himself.

"You will address her as such, and you will make sure her needs are kindly and promptly seen to," he continued somewhat less sardonically, squaring his shoulders and regaining his stance. "In my absence, she is the Lady of the castle, and if I come back and hear anything that displeases me, I will reconsider our arrangement and rescind my generous offer of shelter and protection to anyone who dares to even _think_ of defying her or treating her with less respect than is fitting."

Realizing that she was walking a fine line, Bertha cast her glance downwards, a lump forming in her throat and blushing. "I understand," she mumbled, and in an instant, the sorcerer was gone, and she was glad that he was.

Rumpelstiltskin stood on the guards' walkway behind the crenellations above the inner gate and quickly set about strengthening the cloaking and shielding spells he'd put on the castle decades ago, and that still held. It cost him dearly, but he supposed that this, too, he would simply have to get used to. Then, as Roland watched on sleepily from his window, he vanished.

XXXxxxXXX

"Oh thank goodness," Granny exclaimed, hugging Red to her briefly and looking her over, "We thought you were dead."

"We have to go," Robin told the people who were gathering around them tersely, bending over with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. Archie was staring at him uncertainly, and the bowman took note, smiled and straightened. "Glad to see you again, Cricket" he said to the older man, "Your advice paid off," and Snow's eyebrows arched, grasping that these two knew each other.

"Long story," Robin assured her brusquely, "it ended with me taking my people to Rumpelstiltskin's castle before the curse hit."

Snow eyed Archie crossly. "_What?_"

"Would you have gone?" he asked back dryly, and she considered for a moment.

"No."

That was one option none of them would have chosen, and she vividly recalled how they'd left the Dark One to rot after they'd sent home the guards they'd placed at the entrance of the tunnel leading to his dismal underground prison. Both of the men who'd brought the imp food and emptied his bucket had had families, and they'd been sure that Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't be a problem anymore if he hadn't been up to then. They hadn't felt the need to concern themselves with him any further, and they'd never have considered going to the Dark Castle, the place where evil slept. It hadn't crossed their minds that he'd have protected it, or even been able to… but apparently he had, and that was where they were going now. To whatever end.

"Stay together, folks," ordered Charming, glancing around in the dim light of Robin's and Bae's arrow torches. He couldn't really tell if everybody that should have been there actually was, but he didn't presume that many people would have thought to wander off in this situation. It was probably an illusion to think they would be able to outrun what was after them in the dark, but he would not make them sitting ducks by waiting for daylight – and death.

Leading the way at a quick pace, he went ahead with Robin at his back, and Bae and the four palace guards who'd been loyal to them brought up the rear of their group. Snow was exhausted to the point of indifference as to where she was putting her feet; one was going ahead of the other, and that would have to do. Eventually, she let herself fall behind and looked for Red, who was near the end of their troop, staying with Granny. That the old lady was holding her own so surprisingly well made Snow feel that they had a realistic chance of getting out of these cursed woods, and she was totally and utterly beyond caring where to, just as long as they'd be safe.

"You _are_ sure that it was really _him_?" she asked at Red, although she already had.

"Heck, yeah," the brunette replied patiently, almost laughing at her, "In the flesh. Creepy taint, bad teeth, claws and all."

If she could have seen his face, she would have noticed Bae smile briefly because he had heard her. "That's my old man," he mumbled to himself. "Should have known he was unbreakable…"

"Go figure…" Snow returned, but suddenly, an ear-splitting noise tore through the darkness, and the earth began to shake and moan with a series of tremors that tore deep, abysmal cracks in the frozen ground all around them.

Charming lost his footing, and Robin came to a sudden halt, shouting at the others to stay where they were as he caught hold of his arm, dragging him back from the wide crevice he had nearly fallen into. They had nowhere left to go, and they could see thick swaths of fog closing in from behind.

"You can run, but you can't hide…" a woman's voice told them sweetly out of the rising mist.

Within seconds Snow couldn't see the others anymore, and the only sound she could hear was the female's cackling laugh.

"You can fight, but you won't win…" the voice continued amusedly as Snow's head began to spin.

She was frantically scanning the white oblivion. "Charming?" she called out, but there was no answer, and her heart was pounding painfully in her chest.

"You can hope, but you won't prevail," the voice thundered, closing the statement.

* * *

_**Next up: the creatures that go bump in the night, and what remains of hope...**_


	12. Wolf's Moon

_** Thank you for reviewing: cynicsquest and Twyla Mercedes! Thank you also to everybody who's now following or has favorited this!**_

* * *

12. Wolf's Moon

Darkness and cold ashes and silence: that was all he found when the sorcerer returned to the place he'd left the Shepherd Prince, the Snow White Queen, the Outlaw, the wolf and his son to carry home his dying love. The stiffly frozen remains of two ogres and a few dozen wolves aside, there was nothing here, and he was grateful for that, on one hand, because it meant that the others were alive. On the other, there was a lot of woodland between here and the castle, and he had no way of finding them. Not anymore.

His wedding band had brought him to Belle because one was meant to find the other if there was True Love involved – and there was. His blue signet ring would find him if someone intended it to, but it seemed that no one did.

Heavy snowfall had covered their tracks while he'd slept, and he realized that for some reason he couldn't even anchor his mind to that ring. There was nothing there at the other end when he closed his eyes and tried to latch onto the metal or the stone. It was as though its wearer and everyone he tried to picture was enshrouded in some sort of thick, mystic fog, and he couldn't get any kind of image to fix his gaze to.

He'd have to start doing this the old fashioned way, he decided, and began searching, using his magic to dart back and forth between the deserted villages and old landmarks that lay just outside the perimeters of this part of the cursed woods. He scouted the old hollow-ways his token might have guided them towards, and walked along the most negotiable river crossings he could remember, but he found nothing.

XXXxxxXXX

The moon was still hidden away by clouds and mist and fear, invisible to any creature that could not feel the pull of its silvery, pervasive allure. Its influence worked on those that could the same whether they could see it or not, though, and the power it held over Red crept through the fabric of her crimson cloak with icy searching fingers to wrap around her heart. She didn't have to see it to know that it was there; to her, it was _always_ there, but on a night like this it was overwhelming.

Her eyes changed color from steel blue to golden amber and back, and her hands tingled, telling her that there was nothing her human form could do here. She dropped her cloak as inconspicuously as she could and crouched down, letting her wolf take over, letting its heart dangerously far into her mind, as far as she thought that she could still control it. She was the one person here with – perhaps – a chance of escape because she was the only one among them with a Talent that would enable her to find a way out of this pea soup without getting herself killed.

Knowing that Rumpelstiltskin was alive and that he was probably their best bet, she told herself that she had to find him. Provided, of course, she _could_ find him without the ring, and provided that Belle had lived. If Belle had not lived, then she doubted that he'd be bothered with them this night or any other. Sober reasoning hadn't been her way of making decisions before she'd had the responsibilities she did now, and she had no idea how this was going to play out, but she hoped that it would. Hope had always been her way of making decisions.

As soon as her limbs had straightened, and the excruciating throbbing in her head had stopped after she'd changed, she quietly slunk off. Relying on her heightened senses and wolf-instincts to steer her around the crevices in the ground and away from the threatening presence that was closing in on them, she made her way lithely and effortlessly across the open field and through the dense whiteness that surrounded them.

_Good luck,_ she heard a familiar voice in her head when she reached the trees on the other side of the meadow, _go!_ and then her connection with Granny broke off. She hesitated for a moment, but pushed herself onward, shoving Red's consciousness under as brutally as she could so that the wolf would make this easier on her. It was alright, she kept telling herself and let it happen. This was what Granny wanted her to do, too, and the wolf would not have Red slowing her down.

She smelled other wolves everywhere, even now, but it wasn't real, she told herself, because the wolves they'd fought off in the woods hadn't been real. Their razor sharp teeth and their horrifying metallic claws certainly had been, but the beings they'd encountered there had reeked of death as though they carried it in them like a disease that was eating them up from the inside. Foulness and rot lingered in her nose as she quickened her pace upon realizing that the fog around her wasn't as impenetrable anymore the farther away from the others she got. She thought of how those beasts had changed back to whoever they'd been before evil had taken control of their life force and turned it into something ghastly that longed for nothing more than to devour every living, breathing thing in their way.

Tearing through the brush, she kept going as fast as she could with an acute awareness of being followed by at least one of the undead monstrosities for a time. It might have been her imagination, though, she thought, or weariness catching up with her.

Suddenly the air cleared, and there was color and sound again; the color and sound of night, and the lucid sky above was filled with a million stars. She felt the moon's cool, strong embrace welcoming her into the wild.

It would be so easy to just keep going and never look back, she realized. If she let the wolf have its way, the moon whispered to her softly, pervasively, she would never again be troubled by human shortcomings and strife, never again have to fight battles that weren't her own.

The forest, too, was calling to her with a promise of endless freedom, and she would only have to give up the human shell that was constraining her to have that. Not to change back to her human form was her choice to make, and if she was to choose the wolf over the woman, the forest would always nurture her, always look after her. Being hunted by humans or ogres or any other creature wasn't what Destiny had intended for her.

She was born to hunt because…

_she was the huntress._

She could hunt at night, sleep while the moon slept, and wake with its rising… she could live like that forevermore because…

_she was the moon._

Ruby Red Lucas was drowning. She was drowning in a dream she'd so often had in these past weeks, and so often long before that in another life.

But then she realized that she was vanishing in the depths, and she began asking herself since when she had been hearing voices, and how it could be that she let them tell her what to do. Nobody had the right to tell her what to do, not even and _especially not_ the wolf – she'd learned a few things in her time in Storybrooke, and one of them was that no one decided her fate but she herself. Struggling fiercely against her second nature, the human soul within pitting itself against all of what Destiny had bequeathed to the beast she'd created, Red fought to deny what her instincts were craving and slowed down. Everything slowed down… everything became heavy and hard and cold again… but her vision cleared.

She soon found herself out in the open once more, and she caught sight of houses; all of them dark and abandoned. There wasn't one that still had a roof on it. Windows were shattered, walls were falling down, and young saplings grew where floorboards had once been. The curse, written by a magician who'd once been human and cast by a woman who _claimed_ to be human, had laid ruin to everything that human hands had produced in this world. Millennia of human culture had been wiped out for the sake of one man.

No wolf would ever do the likes of that to its pack, the huntress muttered in her ear, and Red knew it was true.

The firmament and all its beauty would be here long after the last traces of mankind's destruction had faded from the face of this earth, the moon crooned, and Red knew this, too, to be true.

She stopped. No, she told herself. All this had to stop, and it had to stop _now_. None of her friends might survive this night if it didn't.

With a low growl and a lot of resolve, she managed to block out the moon and the forest, and hold down the wolf long enough to shift back to her human form. She lay down in the frosted grass for a minute until the bitter winter night had chilled her into her human mind again, whether this was her _right mind_ she didn't know, but it was her _human mind_ again. It was so very hard to change without the cloak, but she was in control, not the wolf, and not the moon, and certainly not the voices in her head.

Shivering, she sat up and considered her options. There were none; she had to find the sorcerer. Looking about, though, she had no idea where she was and how she was going to do it without the wolf. All she knew was that she was finally outside of the endless loop they'd been walking; there were remains of civilization here, and perhaps there would be some clothes or something to warm her inside the crumbling huts and hovels, but who was to say she'd even been moving in the right direction?

She sensed something was off in the ruins closest to the village well, and she span around, certain that she wasn't alone anymore. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she tried to tell herself – or was it? She was unarmed, and her feet and hands were numb from the cold, her lips going blue, and she started trembling uncontrollably.

A childhood memory returned unexpectedly, and ridiculous as it seemed, she cried out, "Rumpelstiltskin!" startled by her own voice.

_Unlikely_, the still functioning part of her mind and the wolf within scoffed in unison, but she hoped the Dark Magician would hear her all the same, and she prayed that he'd come if he did.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she screamed, though what she thought had been a scream was nearly next to a hoarse whisper by then. One more time would make three, and crouching down, she breathed "Rumpelstiltskin…"

"That wardrobe of yours always was skimpy, dearie, but you are going to catch your death tonight," she heard him chuckle right behind her and smiled, a wave of relief washing over her.

She was so shocked that this had apparently worked that she didn't know whether to bite him for the smart remark or throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Having decided that neither would be a good idea, she just took a deep breath and held it, suddenly awkward in his presence, though she was beyond blushing.

Twitching an eyebrow at her with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, he conjured some clothing in a size he estimated might fit, and threw it at her as he faced away. He could hear her exhale, and for the first time that night he felt something close to his usual airy smugness take over.

"I'm so glad you heard me," she stammered, hurriedly pulling and tugging on woolen underwear, leggings and a flannel surcoat over the smock he'd provided. "I wasn't sure that you would."

"How could I _not_ hear you?" he teased, "half the forest did."

She snorted. He was probably right.

"Besides," he continued, motioning at one of the shacks by the well, "I was standing right over there thinking of throwing a fireball at you when you shifted, so you were lucky that you did." He briefly looked over his shoulder to check on her progress. "I've developed a keen dislike of wolves recently."

Her brow creased, and she yanked on her new, warm boots. "I – I summoned you," she began, rubbing and blowing on her stiff fingers because they would not work the buckles on her boots and ignoring the bait. "I called your name because I thought…"

"You could call my name all night long," he cut her off, looking at his feet, "scream and yell it at the top of your lungs, and I wouldn't feel a thing. My magic is different now." He paused, letting it sink in, and he took note of the bewilderment that was written all over her face as she stopped fumbling with her cloak for a moment, but she didn't question him.

"I only heard you because I was actually looking for you," he admitted. "Well, not _you_ in particular, but all of you… and… my son."

"You came back for us," she concluded. It wasn't entirely what she'd expected. Not with Belle the way she was, and he couldn't have known what had happened after he'd left them.

She was at his side presently, wrapping herself up snugly in the cloak when she'd finally found out which way was up, grateful for its fur lining. It wasn't her own, but it was ever so warm, and dry and clean, and she hadn't had anything warm, dry and clean on her body in weeks.

"Thank you for this," she mumbled, feeling very much more human, and he nodded.

"It won't have the same effect, you know," he informed her, gently brushing her arm in referring to the cloak. The enchantment he'd placed upon the red cape he'd made for her grandmother, once upon a time, was complicated, and it wasn't something he could do out here, not like this, but she'd guessed that already.

She looked at him firmly, fixating his eyes, and he saw that the rich amber was still gleaming through. The wolf was still there, but she'd conquered it. For tonight.

"I don't need it anymore," she told him, and he thought that she really believed it.

He wasn't sure if a wolf such as hers would ever be tamed, not in the way that she assumed to tame it. He'd taken one look at the child in Widow Lucas' arms and known that the cloak he'd promised the old woman would not keep the wolf's nature bound forever. The wolf wasn't just an alter ego that came sneaking out of the shadows on a night like this; it who she was, and she'd accepted it, grown with it, but she might not yet realize how little it would be willing to accept _her_.

"What about the others?" he asked, putting first things first. "What about Bae?"

"Bae's fine – well, he _was_. They all were when I left them, but that was probably over half an hour ago. I was the only one who got away," she said, and started to tell him what happened, but halted then. "Belle –"

"She'll be alright," he waved off brusquely, taking a huge bulk of the load off of her shoulders casually, as if they'd been discussing the weather. "She's quite safe, but the others are not, obviously, and you're going to have to guide me to them. Tell me what you know as we go." He turned and began running back down the path that had led her here.

She straightened her back and scowled, following him. "What? You're not _serious_, are you? Can't you just… sort of puff of purple mist and all that?" she demanded when she'd caught up, thinking how long this was going to take them. They didn't have that kind of time.

"You don't know a thing, do you?" he laughed, not slowing, but giving her a sideways glance. "You are a shape shifter, dearie!" The silence that ensued told him that she didn't have a clue what he was talking about, so he decided that he'd have to spell it out to her.

"_Shape shifter!"_ he repeated. "That would make you a magical creature," and she sighed.

"I know that. So?"

"_One_ magical creature, such as I am, can't just move or _re_move _another_ magical creature. Not unless I… well… shall we say _disable_ them first. Take away their powers, or turn them into something _not_-so-magical."

She swallowed, certain that she was in the picture as to what he was getting at.

"But what about all the stories?" she inquired, her eyes narrowing at him as he fell behind, and the blood circulation returned to her toes with pins and needles. "The ones about the children you stole?"

"_Stole_?" he asked back, glaring at her disdainfully. "Any children I _took_ were given out of _free will_, I assure you" he corrected, "by their _parents_, often for more valid reasons than I care to remember. And none of them magical, at least not the ones I've placed with new families during my time."

"So you can take a human with you anywhere you like, but you can't teleport someone who has magic?"

"Or _is_ magical. No. And a human would have to consent to go with me – of his own free will. Or be given of his guardian's free will, as in the case of a child."

"Dear God," Red muttered under her breath. Thinking about this, she imagined the terror and the inner turmoil it must have caused Belle to consent to go with the Dark One when she had left Avonlea _of her own free will_, and how the Duke would have felt at giving his daughter to the imp _of his own free will_… how any parent would have felt at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin vanishing with their child, even if the child had been old enough to consent. She almost choked on the comment that was tormenting the tip of her tongue and concentrated on her feet, lest he'd decide to turn her into something not-so-magical if she accidentally let it slip.

"This is going to take all night," she panted agitatedly instead. She was sorely tempted to transform back to her wolf, but she assumed that he wouldn't be able to keep up if she did, and whatever else the sorcerer was or was not, he was her only hope. Providing the others were still alive now, and providing they were still where she'd left them.

XXXxxxXXX

"I have kept my end of the deal, even after all this time," the witch insisted, looming over Maleficent. "I've waited for your return patiently. Now you _will_ tell me where the portal is."

Her voice was calm and low, but the undertone in it was cold and sharp as she waved a slim-fingered green hand to partially dissolve the mystic fog she'd called upon, revealing her latest reaping to her companion in the light of the wolf's moon: a group of sixty statue-like people in the clearing just beyond the Endless Forest. They were frozen in time, as it seemed, snapshots of men, women and children staring into space. Their eyes were open, but they saw nothing, and their ears were deaf to the witch's drawl with the mists of Lethe crawling at their feet and distorting their reality.

Charming was there, Maleficent noted, open-mouthed, and immobilized in mid-shout. She absentmindedly circled Snow, who was holding Red's cloak clutched distraughtly to her chest with white knuckles. Passing Robin, who'd raised his bow and had been just about to shoot off an arrow, she took a closer look at Granny because the old lady seemed to be smiling at something. Following her gaze, there was nothing she could align it with, however, so she moved on, her brow creasing.

Stopping in front of Bae, a brief, knowing smile flickered across her face, smoothing the crinkles. She recognized him by the barely visible scars around his mouth and the soft chocolate brown color of his father's eyes, but she did not see that he was swaying just slightly on his feet as he was doing his best to stand very, very still in the cold air of breaking dawn, digesting what he'd just heard. There was a portal… all he had to do was find it, and they'd all be going home…

"She's not here," Maleficent stated quietly after a while, sauntering back towards Morrigan. "You have failed. The girl isn't here, so I don't owe you anything."

The witch's eyes blazed, and the mist closed in on them in thick swathes. "I did all you asked of me. I've had every ogre in the realm rounding up the Forgotten for years now, and I've been keeping them for you. I've had my wolves track down the ones who've been returned to the very last sorry, bedraggled individual. Maybe the wretch you're looking for froze to death in her sleep in this godforsaken land, and neither of us will ever have to worry about her again."

Maleficent's eyes narrowed, sizing up her accomplice. Giving in to old habits, she flung a bolt of lightning at the witch, but Morrigan had been expecting it, somehow. She vanished, avoiding it easily, and reappeared behind Maleficent in an instant, grabbing he Fallen Fairy by the throat and choking her when she span around to face her.

No wonder Regina had always gotten the better of her, Bae thought, his nose running and twitching with a sneeze. She may have been great in her day, but decades of either one confinement or the other had rendered the old bag dense as brick and slow to boot.

"Well then, I'll just have to find it myself," he heard Morrigan laugh before she dropped her hand, letting go of Maleficent, and faded away into the fog after she'd found what she'd been looking for in the other woman's mind.

Maleficent furiously screamed out something unintelligible and began to veil herself in a cloud of black smoke, forgetting all about Bae and his companions.

Bae was close enough to see his chance, so he lunged himself at her and grabbed the hem of her cloak before she could dematerialize. He held on for dear life as she teleported them back to the tunnels beneath the Old Mill, hoping she'd get there before Morrigan could break through the wards Regina had cast. With any luck, she'd be kept busy for a while, and there'd be enough time to consider their next step.

Her blind passenger didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do once they got wherever it was she was taking them, but he'd think of something, he told himself. He always did. The last thing he was aware of before the misty clearing disappeared from sight was the ghostly shape of Red bounding towards them, and his father yelling his name. Then came the sickening static he always got from Traveling, and if there had been anything in his stomach left to lose, he'd have lost it as his feet left solid ground.

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_**Next up: Belle, being Belle, is not about to wait around until the smoke clears...**_


	13. Out Of The Dark

_**Thank you for reviewing: cynicsquest, NobodyToo, woodland59 and Twyla Mercedes. Always appreciate the helpful comments and encouragement!**_

_**Thanks for betaing: cynicsquest - the slippers were red first time around too, though!**_

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13. Out of the Dark

She wasn't chilled or benumbed, and nothing smelled of damp or mold. Belle didn't really know where she was when she woke from her deep, wonderful sleep but, strangely, she knew she was safe. It the first time in a very long time that she wasn't exhausted or sore when she opened her eyes, and she had no memory of being awake half the night because she'd been too tired or troubled for sleep. She was snug and warm in a soft bed, wrapped in a downy comforter instead of a coarse blanket and her cloak, and there was a real pillow under her head instead of some lumpy piece of clothing.

The heavy dark blue and golden curtains that lined the tall sash windows on the other side of the room had not been drawn, and sweet morning sunlight flooded the room. She sat up, blinking at the brightness of everything, but she was oddly at ease with herself as she studied her surroundings; she was sure she'd been here before.

There was something familiar about this place, and it was profoundly reassuring and deeply saddening at the same time, but not in an alarming way. It was like being home again, but without a sense of belonging, and she couldn't quite grasp why, because this wasn't her home. This wasn't the apartment above the library, and this wasn't Avonlea Castle.

She recognized the huge dark polished wardrobe and the dresser, the intricate stucco on the ceiling, and even the hand-woven carpets that covered the old oaken floorboards generously, but she refused to accept the only association her brain was offering as she looked around. She was not unsettled, but she was confused. She'd get it sorted somehow, she thought, she'd have to take it slow.

Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her again, she reasoned, and wondered briefly if she was back in the mental ward and hadn't caught on yet. Maybe she'd been there all along. That was unlikely, though, she realized after a moment. The medication she'd received there had not been meant to induce emotions. Their purpose had been to shut off her feelings so _she_ would be shut off… and she had been.

Complete indifference had locked her inside of herself for all those years; the drugs she'd been given had ensured that there would never been any kind of stirring of anger or pain, or any form of sadness. There had never been a jagged edge to anything she saw or heard, not that there had been much to see or hear in the off-white padded cell she'd spent day after day and year after year vegetating away in. But, in a way, that hadn't been a problem either.

Coming out of that haze after they'd stopped administering treatment had been like emerging from a long trip in a windowless carriage. The Evil Queen had been too busy to be bothered with her, and the jagged edges that had resurfaced had been enough to leave her in pieces. The thing was, she'd _seen_ those pieces of herself, and she'd been able to start reassembling them even before Jefferson had opened the door. Twenty-eight years of white vinyl walls, plastic spoons and needles in her veins had been carried away by the cool, fresh breeze that had hit her when she'd left the hospital to look for Gabriel Gold's pawnshop. She'd been sufficiently whole to carry herself beyond everything that had happened, and she was still whole now.

There were no faulty circuits in her head, she decided, and buried her face in the pillow that was lying next to hers on the empty side of the bed, hugging it to her, losing herself in a whiff of what could have been her dead husband's scent just for argument's sake.

It was too good to be true, though, she told herself. Even if she really was here, in _his_ room, in _his_ castle, that didn't mean that he would be here, too. He _couldn't_ be. He was dead. And yet… she could feel some part of him.

Rapt in recollections of a life that was long past, she closed her eyes and pictured his face for a moment before she sluggishly rose and padded over to the window on her bare feet to attain certainty of her whereabouts. Other memories came creeping back as she stood incredulously staring out at the inner courtyard of Dark Castle. She'd looked out at it from this exact spot a hundred times, but she'd never seen it like this, never seen it so _alive _in her time. There had never been _people_ out in it, not _ever_, and yet it was teeming with them now. She was astounded at the sight of them and at how well fed, clothed and rested they looked. The castle and his magic had somehow provided for them, she concluded, or he had provided for them.

She leaned on the marble sill and looked down at a young girl fetching water from the well, and a knave polishing weapons while several men were working on their longbows, talking to one another, laughing and enjoying the sunshine. An old woman sat on a stool, resting old bones and rehashing old stories, while another, who might have been her sister, was sitting beside her with a bucket between her ankles, plucking a pheasant and listening.

As she was taking all this in, the door swung open behind her, startling her, and she spun around. A burly, red-faced women bustled into the room, carrying a tray with some food and a jug of water on it. She was smiling pleasantly, and the corners of Belle's mouth automatically twitched in response.

"I hope you're feeling better this morning, milady," the woman inquired kindly, and Belle held her breath.

"I'm Bertha," she continued, setting down the tray on a small table by the other window. "I've brought you some breakfast."

Belle's heart was racing, and the rush of blood in her ears was keeping her from thinking too clearly. She had a thousand questions, and they were all equally important, but the first one that wanted out was the one that was most urgent.

"Who brought me here?" she asked.

Bertha's eyebrows arched. "The Lord of the Castle," the older woman answered, hesitating to pour water from the jug into the goblet as she held Belle's gaze.

A chill ran down Belle's spine, making her shiver. Her breath caught. "And – and who is the Lord of this Castle?"

Bertha put down the jug and took one step back, folding her hands, not knowing what reaction to brace herself for. "Rumpelstiltskin," she said. "The Dark One, milady."

Belle felt as though her legs would give out, and she plunked herself down on the high backed upholstered chair beside the table.

Bertha was at her side instantly, her eyes searching her charge's pale face intently and worried that the girl might faint. She hurriedly resumed pouring some water and offered her the goblet.

"Are you alright, milady?" she asked, and Belle shook her head, refusing the drink.

"He's alive," she breathed, puzzling Bertha, who didn't have a clue why the immortal sorcerer shouldn't be. He was, as far as she was concerned, _immortal_ after all.

"Of course he is," she responded evenly, not knowing whether this was good news or bad to the other woman's mind.

"He's alive," Belle repeated as the information sank in, a truth spoken out loud by another person and turning an unlikely hope in her heart into reality. A smile started lighting up her features, and this time it was Bertha who mirrored what she was seeing with an air of uncertainly.

"He is," she assured her, and Belle jumped up elatedly.

"Where is he?" she asked. "I have to see him."

"He's gone into the forest to attend to an important matter, milady," Bertha replied, "He said he'd be back as soon as he could."

Belle's face fell, and she started pacing, kneading her hands, thinking of the others. "Did he say _what_ matter?"

She had no recollection of the previous night's events, but he had to be looking for the others. The last thing she remembered was that she'd been running uphill, fleeing from an ogre into the dark undergrowth. Everything after that was blank, but he must have found her... Something must have happened to her, and he had found her.

"He didn't say, no," Bertha returned, "but he was reluctant to leave and concerned for you." She looked down at her feet before raising her eyes to Belle's once again. "We didn't know if you were going to live when he brought you here last night, and I think he didn't expect you to, either."

An awkward silence hung over them, and Belle chewed on her lip, digesting what she was being told.

The door opened again quietly, and a little boy stuck his head in.

"You're awake!" Roland called out, a wide grin on his face.

Bertha tried to shoo him back out into the corridor and hush him up, but he managed to evade her grasp, pushing past her.

Gawking up at the pretty young woman who was standing in the middle of the room with her arms folded across her chest, he gave her a toothy grin. She was too thin, frail and pallid, but the warm, genuine smile she gave him made her one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He thought that she had nothing in common with the doomed creature he'd watched the Dark One carry up those stairs just the night before, and he was sincerely glad there was nothing left of the hopelessness he'd felt about her then.

"It worked!" he marveled, bobbing up and down on his heels. "He made it work!"

Belle bent down to him, putting one hand on his arm so that she could get a good look at his happy face up close.

"What worked?" she inquired benevolently, "What did he make work?"

The boy beamed, ignoring Bertha, who was scowling at him. "The glass wand that my papa used to make my mother better when she was ill before I was born," he told her. "My father thought it was broken, but it wasn't. I brought it up here so the magician could help you, and he did."

Belle's smile widened. "Then your papa must be Robin Hood."

"You know him?" he squeaked, and she nodded.

"I do."

Returning her attention to Bertha, Belle's expression tensed up somewhat as she straightened, rubbing the boy's shoulder reassuringly.

"You need to tell me what's been going on here," she said. "I've been running around the woods for so long now, I don't have the slightest idea what's been happening."

Bertha sent the grumbling boy out to play, and Belle bade her to pull up the other chair as she seated herself. The older woman didn't know where to begin, so she waited for Belle to start asking, and when she did, she answered every question with as much detail as she could while Belle nibbled absently on her still warm bread and cheese.

An hour later, the Lady of Dark Castle had dressed and was anxiously wandering around the halls and corridors, trying to wrap her head around the things she'd heard.

Bertha was always a step behind, watching her apprehensively. She had no intention of letting her out of her sight, since she'd been specifically ordered not to, for one thing. The other thing that made her vigilant, however, was plain curiosity. Belle was nothing like the woman she'd imagined her to be. Roland's nursemaid had had an indistinct image in her mind of the kind of person it would take to attach themselves to the Black Magician. Belle most certainly didn't fit it.

The Lady of Avonlea was neither a blackened soul, nor was she some eager student of the devil's depraved practices. She wasn't a woman who'd been defiled and taught to feel dishonorable and of no more value to the world than a used shoe rag. Belle was a Lady, and there was love in her eyes when she spoke of her husband. Bertha realized that Belle was someone worth taking care of today not because she was told to, but because it was she who would be looking out for their interests for all the future.

Without realizing it at first, Belle found herself in the Great Hall. She wished she knew where Rumple was now as she gazed at the gigantic painting at the far end of the hall. It looked like it might have been by Duerer, and she remembered the sorcerer's morbid liking for life and death as depicted by the artist whose work he'd admired in the World Without Magic. It was visible throughout the castle, but this one was the most impressive of all, not because of its size, but because of its subject matter, and because of the way it seemed to change from time to time.

She couldn't quite grasp how he'd gotten a hold of a masterpiece like this in the Enchanted Forest, but she knew there would always be mysterious, inexplicable things about Rumpelstiltskin she'd seek to uncover and never quite manage.

The only uncharacteristic detail about the painting, if indeed it was a Duerer, was that the four riders' faces were turned away from the beholder, she discovered, as her eyes roamed over the canvas. The icy mountainscape that unfolded to their fore looked still far beyond reach and enigmatic, while a deserted, barren limestone pavement shrouded in fog lay behind the horsemen. She couldn't exactly recall the last time she'd looked at the rendition this closely, but she was almost sure that the scenery had changed since then.

The fog, she realized, was creeping her out, and she found herself thinking of the others, wondering if they were safe out there – as safe as they could be, or if they were running for their lives. Not knowing was as bad as assuming that they might be, and it was turning her stomach. She couldn't bear it, and she felt her chest closing up.

The painting started to change again as she stared at it, but it wasn't just the scene as such – it was the entire composition that was swirling and shifting, and she realized that she was slipping into it, delving into its renewing complex arrangement, and overwhelmed that she could. She reached out a hand, not expecting to feel a solid surface of hard, oil coated fabric beneath her fingers, but when the tips of them vanished in the churning mass of colors up to the knuckles, she quickly pulled back, retreating from it.

In an instant, as if sensing her fear, it stopped surging and rolling, and all at once, the entire piece was gone, uncovering the hidden vault in the wall she knew only Rumple could open. She was astounded that it would allow her to gain access, but there had to be a reason, and she firmly believed that it had to do with the people who were still out there and the connection they shared. The connection she shared with Rumple, and the connection he shared with Bae, perhaps. It was one thing, or the other. It had to be. She was trying very hard not to think about the baby; she didn't know if it was still there, but if it was, then this might also well explain… _if it was still there_, a small voice kept telling her… _if_, and her hand involuntarily went up to her belly.

No, she thought, she couldn't face this. Not now. _Not just now, _and she tried to return her attention to the things she might yet have a bearing on, instead of focusing on those she did not, and she took a deep breath, willing her hand to drop.

She assumed that Rumple was looking for Bae and the others right now, but she also had the feeling that something might not have gone as he'd anticipated, for some reason, and that she might be needed.

Turning the thought of how she was going to find them over in her mind, she rummaged through the contents of the safe, and one thing in particular caught her attention. It was sitting between a pair of ruby colored slippers and a box with three petrified dragons' eggs in it. It was a small bottle, dark blue in color and labeled 'Lethe' in Rumple's neat script.

She could have taken out the slippers, the dragon eggs, Hook's clock, or Pegasus' golden horseshoe, but she didn't; it was the bottle that seemed to beckon her, and she took it out and turned it over in her hand, stroking her thumb along the smooth glass surface. Oddly enough, it was empty. She decided to pocket it all the same, though she didn't know why. It seemed… _useful_, more so than anything else, and she knew this castle and Rumple's magic well enough to take a hint.

The painting reappeared as she turned to walk away, but she hesitated and glanced back at it when she noticed. The riders depicted on it were farther off in the distance than before, and the sky had changed; it was clearing.

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_**Next up: We're back underground...**_


	14. Confinements

_**Thank you for reviewing: woodland59, NobodyToo, cynicsquest, Twyla Mercedes and sahm30!**_

_**Special thanks to cynicsquest for betaing - I love working with you.**_

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14. Confinements

"Come on," Rumpelstiltskin yelled at her, turning back the way they had come. Red stood in the thick fog where Bae had disappeared only seconds before, her feet rooted to the ground, and her heart thumping wildly in her throat. She spun around at the sound of his voice, her glance roaming over the still forms of Snow and Granny, indistinct shapes in the mist, and her eyes met his when he grabbed her by the arms, almost shaking her.

"We have to go," he growled, "_move_!"

"Hell, no," she returned disbelievingly when she'd found her voice, "we can't just leave them here!"

"Hell _yes_, we can," he said more evenly, letting go of her and trying to dial down his tone. "There's nothing I can do for them right now, _nothing_! I need a special object from the castle to lift the spell they're under, and we _will_ come back when I have it, but if we don't get a move on _now_, I won't be able to follow my son's trail anymore, and I'll lose him again."

He could hardly see the fading silvery traces that remained of Baelfire's aura as it was, and they were vanishing quickly into the white of the dense fog that surrounded them. Panic washed over him, slowing him every bit as much as the Shifter was, and he muttered something indiscernible under his breath as he closed his eyes when she hesitated, resolving to go without her even when he knew how foolish that would be.

He tried to anchor his mind to the fine particles of his son's essence. They barely clung together sufficiently to remain visible to his perception, and he couldn't quite follow because the trail had practically faded away; it was too insubstantial to lead him at this point. Mercifully, he caught a glimpse of the general direction of where it was going, though, and he recognized the place easily since he'd been there so often that it sent chills up and down his spine when he thought back upon the time. Putting one and one together, he came up with the answer: Maleficent must have found Regina, because what he saw was Cora's Mill.

The fact that Regina had something to do with this didn't surprise him. He hadn't expected that she'd go hiding in the bushes after he'd told her to jump off the edge of some high cliff before he got a hold of her and made a new deal with Death. That would have been too simple. Whatever her part in this, he'd find out, and she'd pay the price.

Cora's Mill was reasonably close by, and the tunnels beneath it were connected to Regina's palace, which was where Regina might have been heading before she'd been intercepted by her old friend, one way or the other. He suspected that one of them would have protected it, though, and he wondered how hard it would be to get through whatever wards he'd find.

Although Red had seen the sorcerer's outline falter, she couldn't tell for sure whether or not he'd been physically gone when he lifted his gaze to hers, lost in his contemplations. Creepy didn't cover what this man could do, she thought, shuddering, but she held her ground.

"Listen," he told her, inwardly piecing together what remembered of the Mill and its surroundings with his knowledge of the tunnels below and trying to align the lot of it with what Regina had been attempting to relay before he'd shattered the mirror, "I get that you're worried about them. I understand that. But do you have the slightest idea who that fairy we just saw is?"

Red didn't, and her silence prompted a frown from the sorcerer.

"That was _Maleficent_," he informed her patiently. "As in _the Fallen Fairy_. You'd do well to remember the name, dearie. She's very old, and she's very powerful… and she _might_ also be very, very angry at me, at Regina, and at everyone else in this entire world or any other."

Red thought about that; Emma had told her Maleficent was dead. She'd been sure that she'd killed her in her dragon form in the caves beneath the library, and she'd used her father's sword to do so. Obviously, her friend had been mistaken. Perhaps magic returned to where it belonged, no matter where you brought it. What other explanation was there for Rumpelstiltskin's appearance in this realm when he'd been killed in the Land Without Magic?

"Can you deal with her?" she inquired, thinking that he had never done well with fairies. "Are you powerful enough?"

His mouth opened and closed while he thought of how to answer to that. Maleficent alone, when she wasn't expecting him: for a while, yes. Regina and whoever else they were dealing with on top: no. Not at the same time, and not like this. "I can't destroy her," he admitted, thinking hard to come up with a binding spell that might work on her instead.

"I can only distract her long enough to get Bae away from her, and…" he paused, painfully swallowing his pride yet again, "I need you there to give me some cover." He was no good to Bae or Belle or anyone else if he was dead. Again.

What had his son been thinking? Bae had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. He would, soon enough. The sorcerer didn't question that he must have had his reasons for doing what he did, but he wished that he'd just looked before he'd jumped, literally. _Bad habit of that boy's_, he pondered.

"I can cast a protective enchantment that will deter any_thing_, or any_one_ meaning them harm here," he persisted, when Red remained silent, already working on getting it installed in any case, and she finally nodded in approval, though she was still confused. "I'm _asking_ you to come with me, Miss Lucas."

Chewing her lower lip, she made a decision. "Where are they now?" she inquired, somehow sensing that he might already know, and Rumple fixed his unreadable gaze to hers. Of course he did, she realized then. Belle had been right about one thing the time they'd spoken of him when she'd asked her what she'd ever seen in him; he was layered beyond description.

Red would never understand _how_ he did _what_ he did, but the point was that _she_ needed _his_ help, not the other way around. He was stipulating the conditions of the bargain they had entered back in the village because there was no way they would ever be friends. That being clear, she knew that he would keep his word, though, in the end. For Belle's sake.

"Do you trust me?" he urged, immediately regretting his choice of words. What a thing to ask Little Red Riding Hood when you'd been renowned to be the Big Bad Wolf for the better part of your life. Surprisingly, however, she hummed in a manner he imagined could mean yes. He could tell she wasn't completely convinced, but she was putting in an effort, just as she had in Storybrooke. For Belle's sake.

"Where your family is concerned, I guess so," she slowly affirmed, and he positioned himself uncomfortably close in front of her, gently placing his hands on the sides of her head and looking at her with piercing eyes. She could feel his stare through and through, and something inside her recoiled at his touch, but she unwaveringly stayed where she was.

"Empty your mind and allow me to put something inside," he told her, and she tried, gritting her teeth at the idea of that. "You have to consent, or I won't be able to show you the way, and you won't be able to follow," he explained.

She hesitated again, grabbing his arms firmly, and he almost let go, but reconsidered at the last moment.

"It won't hurt, and it's not a standing invitation," he assured her, and she took a deep breath, telling herself to relax. A few seconds later, her eyes fluttered shut as she began to receive the images he was giving her. She knew the place he was showing her; he was merely supplementing the blank spaces on her inner map to get there, she came to understand, nothing else, and she began to shift to her wolf again before he released her. He was gone by the time she had fully changed, and she went after him, casting one last worried look back at her companions.

XXXxxxXXX

The cavern underneath Cora's Mill was ablaze with color when the Fallen Fairy rematerialized. She was no fool, and her blind passenger hadn't gone unnoticed; she was ready for him and used her magic to bind him before he knew what hit him. Baelfire was confined within a dark, murky cell next to Regina's faster than he would have thought possible, and she was smiling right into his face when he sat up.

His head was still spinning when he met the Fallen Fairy's gaze, and she could see the defeat in his eyes.

"Well, this is a nice surprise," she crooned. "The Dark One's son."

He slowly raised himself up off the floor without taking breaking contact. "You really are a piece work," he returned grabbing the corroded bars, "Why are you doing this?" He wasn't asking why she'd incarcerated him. He was asking why she was having his friends tormented, and she heard him right.

"Oh, I've been looking for someone," she returned. "Someone you know, so it's actually quite a lucky coincidence you're here."

His breath hitched. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about a certain young noblewoman who was traveling with you," she clarified. "You wouldn't know where to find her, would you?"

Bae's heart missed a beat. It couldn't be Snow. She'd seen her and passed her by, as she had Ella. The only other noblewoman who'd been with them was Belle.

"That can't be all," he responded evenly, ignoring the question.

Why would the witch he'd seen her with unleash her wolves to tear half the realm apart in order to find Belle, of all people, for the Fallen Fairy? What was she getting out of the deal she'd made with Maleficent, and why would Maleficent be after Belle in the first place? He couldn't for the life of him think of anything to link these two women, apart from the fact that they both knew his father. Funny that the first person who always came to mind whenever bad things happened was Rumpelstiltskin.

"That's precisely what I was thinking," Regina interjected casually from the cell next to his, startling him with the announcement of her presence as well as her ascertainment.

"Oh?" he exclaimed, trying to sound unconcerned. "This must be a pajama party, then. You're having an old friend staying over, Maleficent? You should have warned me."

"She doesn't have any friends, much less _old_ ones." Regina stated flatly, and Maleficent scoffed, turning her head.

"And Queen Regina has to wipe out whole townships or curse an entire realm to get any kind of attention," she smirked, relishing the small sounds of Regina's disgruntled seething, "or crash by uninvited in the aftermath to prove her complete uselessness."

Turning back to Bae, she clarified, "It's the Lady of Avonlea I'm talking about. I believe she was with you when you returned."

Bae shuffled about uncomfortably, looked first at his feet, and then straight up at her again. "We lost her," he informed her quietly, and she blanched. "Belle was hit by a falling tree when we were fighting off the ogres your other little gal-pal unleashed."

If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that what he was seeing on her face at that was shock, mixed in with a hint of sadness. Knowing that his father had brought Belle to safety gave him the satisfaction of certainty that whatever Maleficent had been planning, she wouldn't be putting it together as things were. Not without a fight. He hoped he'd bought them some time, at the very least, because he liked Belle, and he knew that his father loved her enough to die for her. He wasn't sure if the Dark One was more powerful than Maleficent, but he was willing to take bets.

"So, the little maid is really dead this time…" Regina concluded from the next cell, sounding surprisingly remorseful. "Rumpelstiltskin will be… _extremely_… upset…"

The Fallen Fairy began pacing, her arms folded across her chest, tormenting her lower lip. "This is… _inconvenient_," she muttered, and unexpectedly returned her attention to Bae, drawing uncomfortably close, narrow eyes on him, her hands suddenly firmly over his.

"I do hope you're telling the truth," she breathed, and he could feel her uninhibitedly probing inside his mind with her own.

Her touch felt like butterflies' wings fluttering against the inside of his head, quivering ever so softly in the unseen breeze of his thoughts. It wasn't unpleasant, even knowing what she was doing, because he recognized the feeling from when his father had been trying to find out whether or not he'd been lying to him as a boy.

He didn't even try to conceal the images she was looking for, and she released him the moment she'd intruded upon his recollections of the minutes right after they had found Belle trapped underneath the pine the ogre had felled with its dead weight. She didn't wait for the rest of it, and he was relieved that his bluff had played out for now.

"Well?" Regina inquired, but Maleficent ignored her, and Baelfire didn't feel compelled to answer.

Just then, a blinding flash of light illuminated the cavern, and the sorcerer appeared behind Maleficent, flinging a net woven of golden filaments he'd conjured at the Fallen Fairy, imprisoning her within it. She hit the rock floor hard, writhing and struggling to free herself of the fibers that were searing her skin, but although she was caught like a fly in a spider's web for the moment, both men realized it wouldn't be for long. Stepping past her, Rumpelstiltskin smirked at the old dragon concentrating on the fine, intricate threads of his spell, looking for a snag to begin unraveling his elegant craftsmanship. She'd figure it out sooner rather than later, he thought as he determinedly clutched two adjacent bars of the cell's entranceway, but it would take her a while.

"Let's get you out of here," he hissed, involuntarily gasping at the sting the fairy steel was causing him. He tightened his grip nonetheless, just as he always had when there had been visitors to his very own private hell in Snow White's dungeons. The bars there had been made of the same material, and although it had never been the doors and locks that had kept him in, the demonic maniac they'd all been so intent on gaping at had stayed exactly where he was and proved even to himself that he was above and beyond feeling something as mundane as pain. It had been the devil on his shoulder's last little satisfaction for the bucket in the corner and the stale bread in his rancid slurry, and he'd handled the fairy steel without flinching for the fun of watching the others doubt their senses. His hands had blistered, as they were blistering now, but _still_ he'd held on until the skin had peeled off in layers and chunks. Most of his _guests_ had been so profoundly shocked and unsettled by this number that they hadn't dared return, and he'd been free of their unwelcome company indefinitely.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced up at his son briefly and refocused. Without a sound, the metal gradually began to crumble away, leaving only rust-colored sprinklings of dust behind at his feet when he was done with it.

Smiling at his father as he squeezed out through the gap the sorcerer had opened up, Bae hugged him, thumping his back, and Rumple clearly recalled the last time he'd held his boy at the docks when they'd returned from Neverland. He hadn't counted on ever doing so again after that; he hadn't even expected to see him again in this life or any other. Precious moments came and went, and he was acutely aware that the most important of them never seemed to last very long, so he carefully stored this one away in his heart as he released his son, grateful for the memory this would generate. There was no personal resentment and nothing troubling between them now, and he was intent on keeping it that way for as long as he could, _if_ he could.

Bae observed that he gingerly started rubbing at his reddened hands, and he realized that the older man was trying to heal them. It didn't work instantly as it would have when he'd been a teenager after Rumpelstiltskin had become the Dark One. Most every cut and graze he'd brought home had completely vanished under his papa's hands until he'd refused to let Zoso's ancient black magic touch him, afraid that it would dull his sense of being human in the way that it had his father's. The Spinner had been long gone by then; not dead and buried, but drowned in the floods of the Dark One's doings so far beyond redemption that Bae had wished he was. If Rumpelstiltskin had just died, then there would have been a way to mourn him, at least, but the monster he'd become in the year that followed was there in the flesh, and the man he'd once been was only a ghost behind the mask he'd chosen to wear.

Bae didn't fully trust that this had changed, but he genuinely wished that it might have. Even as a grown man he wanted his father back; he wanted things to be good between them because he'd loved the Spinner who'd been anything but the coward he'd ultimately deemed himself to be. He'd loved the Spinner with all his heart, and a part of him would always be searching for that man, while another part of him might forever continue running from the Dark One.

Putting a finger over his own lips and gazing at Rumpelstiltskin, he thought _Belle? _and the sorcerer looked at him, catching on that there had to be a reason he hadn't uttered her name out loud.

_She'll be fine_, he answered into Bae's mind, and Bae was relieved, hoping that Maleficent had been too busy to overhear the exchange.

"Let's get out of here," Rumple told him, glancing at the fairy who was working hard to dissolve the strands of her bonds tediously thread by thread. "This won't hold forever."

Bae was baffled. There had been a time when the enchantments his father cast _had_ held until he'd chosen otherwise, and he wondered what had happened since then; he appeared much the same as he had all those years ago when they'd last been here together – except for the eyes. Oddly enough, the windows to the Dark One's soul were those of the Spinner; they had that soft, warm, chocolate brown color they'd been when he was a child, though he hadn't had words for the shade of them then.

He had a lot of questions for Rumple, but there were other, more pressing issues to be dealt with, and he was torn between one and the other. _Where to begin_, he thought, and grabbed the sorcerer's arm.

"Wait," he demanded, gesticulating towards Regina.

"You're _not_ serious, are you?" Rumple questioned exasperatedly. "She _left_ you out there!"

"And now you want to leave her in _here_?" he returned, pushing his hands into his hips. Not that he was very much concerned for the woman's safety, he didn't even _like_ her, but she had information that he needed.

"You're right," the sorcerer snarled, the rage he felt at her flaring up beyond control, "I should put her out of her misery first", and he slammed the flat of his hands into the bars, making Regina hurriedly move back from them.

"You should really listen to your son for a change," she told him, "you're making a big mistake…"

"You _knew_ what was out there, and you left a whole group of unarmed peasants in those woods to die," he snarled, the metal searing his already damaged hands as time seeped through their fingers.

"Casting stones, Saint Rumple?" she spat, growing increasingly nervous as the steel began to disintegrate under his touch. "They had their young noblemen and your son to protect them."

Retreating into the farthest corner of her confinement, she frantically searched for a place to take cover. There was none, and the blood drained from her face when he'd finished pulverizing the bars.

"Look, I'm sorry about the little maid…" she offered, but he was already upon to her, seizing her by the throat while rotating a ball of fire in his palm, and there was morbid, gleeful madness, as well as pure murder in those eyes that suddenly had nothing remotely mindful of the Spinner Bae remembered anymore.

"Papa, stop!" he yelled at him, yanking at his shoulder. "There was talk of a portal before, and she knows about it."

That got Rumpelstiltskin's attention, and he held back. Hesitating for a second until his vision had cleared, he let go of Regina, and she slowly slid to the damp floor of her cell as her knees gave out. He permitted the fire he'd been about to shove at her to die, and his brow creased.

"A portal…?" he mused, glancing around consciously for the first time since he'd arrived. He left the Evil Queen to herself, sitting in a puddle of her own fear, hearing her unguarded mind think that she must be getting old if he could scare her like this. She struggled desperately for composure as she attempted to regain her feet. Priceless, he smirked to himself, absolutely priceless.

Stepping back over Maleficent, who was still toiling laboriously with her bonds, he discovered that there was a working table with various wooden boxes and small bins on it. Some moldy stools were shoved underneath, and a shelf with crocks and jars, as well as a rack of utensils much like the ones in his own working laboratory were propped up against the wall closest. He presumed that most of the things here wouldn't have been been used or replaced in decades, but a closer, more attentive look revealed that he was mistaken, and he picked up one of the crystals he found there.

"That's interesting…" he mumbled, taking in the full stocks of fairy dust and semiprecious stones, as well as the dried herbs and leaves that had been sorted and carefully deposited on the worktop. "What is this anyway? Were you girls smoking weed in mummy's basement, dearie?"

Regina cautiously emerged from her cell. "Very funny," she croaked, rubbing her tender throat and keeping her distance. "If you must know, I came down here to see what was left of Cora's little stash of magic, but _she_," Regina pointed at the Fallen Fairy, "beat me to it."

Maleficent ceased her strenuous efforts and gave them both a cold stare. "You know you won't stop Morrigan this time," she told them calmly. "She's looking for the boy, and she won't stop until she's got him."

"_This time?_" the sorcerer returned, glowering at the Fallen Fairy, "And what boy?"

"The Savior's son," she snorted contemptuously. "Your grandson, if I'm not mistaken."

At that moment, a pulsating, thumping sound commenced, rhythmically shaking the earth and the walls of the cavern as dust rained down on them in sheafs from the ceiling.

"That would be her, by the way," Maleficent stated dryly, sounding anything but anxious. "Tell me again how _you_ got in here," she inquired of Rumpelstiltskin, and his lips narrowed disdainfully as he tried to make a rough estimate of how long it would take for Regina's wards to fail.

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_**Next up: Rumple discovers some limitations, while Belle discovers new horizons**_


	15. The Mist

_**Appreciate the reviews, as always: woodland59, cynicsquest, **__**MagdalenaP and **__**Twyla Mercedes. Thank you also to everyone who favorited and is following this now. Glad you're enjoying the story.**_

_**Special thanks to cynicsquest for taking the time to beta this little hike through the Enchanted Forest.**_

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15. The Mist

Belle had learned quite a few things about ogres recently. She'd never consciously seen one close enough to be nauseated by its foul stench until she'd returned to the Enchanted Forest; what little she'd known had boiled down to seeing the terrible injuries they could inflict, some first-hand descriptions by the dying soldiers they'd been inflicted upon, and some late night fireside stories of the battles the Dark One had won against them. Kings and armies had failed to contain the threat they posed to mankind time and again, but even as a child, she'd been sure that they could be defeated. Everything that breathed and bled could be killed, and all of life was a matter of being in the right place at the right time with the right amount of leverage.

As a child, she'd sat in the kitchens of her father's castle and listened to the tales of Rumpelstiltskin's astounding victories over the fiends that had come in search of whatever it was that made Avonlea so desirable to all manner of creatures of the night. Back then, she'd somehow imagined that she might perhaps one day inherit her father's throne, even though that was a notion about as far-fetched as it could get because she was a woman.

She'd dreamt of more than just managing the castle household for some feeble-minded knight her father would chose to succeed him all the same. Time and again, she'd found herself wondering if she could find a way to make their little part of the world a safer place without having to call on the magic of the Black Sorcerer, who was by reputation as unpredictable as the autumn skies and the first storms that would either strip the branches of their leaves, or uproot the trees they clung to, or destroy whole villages and settlements in one night. It wasn't that she'd despised or mistrusted him or his magic; she'd always hungered for stories of the Dark One and the Dark Visions that were rumored to inspire him to his ominous, mysterious cause. No, she'd merely harbored the firm belief that she owed it to her people to make their fiefdom less dependent on influences she had no bearing upon.

It was that same strong will and the undiminished conviction that she could stand on her own two feet that had driven her onwards all these past weeks. Being in the position to decide her own fate was more important than ever now, somehow – and it was what was prompting her to leave the safety of the Dark Castle even after what had happened just a day before; ogres or no ogres.

Rumple would have been back long ago if he'd found Red and the others and all had been well, but he wasn't here, and she wasn't about to sit around and wait for bad news. She would neither be held prisoner by his fears for her, nor would she become a prisoner of her own fears. Self-determination could prevail in the presence of both faith and fate, and she needed to prove that to herself.

Her last encounter with the monsters that this world had to offer might not have gone well, though she still couldn't remember what had happened to her, exactly. This time, however, she was alone, and that wasn't a bad thing; whatever else, she knew she could find her friends easily from here without attracting attention to herself. All she had to do was keep her head down and stay out of sight, and she was good at that. She knew the river they had been following while they'd been going round in circles, and she knew it wasn't that far from the Dark Castle. Whether or not getting into the magic bubble that had seemed to be holding them would be just as easy as finding it was another matter, but she was quite confident that it would be more than worth her while to try.

All that aside, there were other things she didn't want to be thinking about right now, and the best way to avoid brooding over things she definitely couldn't change was busying her mind with other things. There would be plenty of time for brooding when she got back, she thought, and tugged on the grey winterdragonskin cloak she'd found in Rumple's bedroom. She knew of its magical properties, and she was glad it was still there where she remembered it. The sorcerer had used it on occasion; it made its wearer invisible, and that had certainly come in handy when he'd needed to concentrate his magic on other things rather than himself, needing to remain unseen while he was doing so.

Belle had never so much as caught sight of the winterdragon whose slough it was made from; Rumple had told her that he could summon the beast when he needed his help, but he'd also told her that a dragon bowed to no one, not even the Dark One. Running a hand over the soft, velvety fabric, it was hard to put it together with the image of some scaly monster come to life in her head from the pages of a book, and she thought once again that most things weren't what a preconception based on hearsay might stipulate.

Descending the stairs, she overheard talk of a cursed mist that lay in thick swaths in the forest beyond the village. One of the bowmen from this morning's hunting troop had ventured into it when he'd seen people he knew standing there, unmoving in the white fog. Will Scarlett was telling the man's distraught wife that he'd frozen upon contact with the cool damp of the haze. Not knowing what to do and afraid that the same would happen to them, they had returned to the castle, leaving two armed archers behind in the trees to keep an eye on the situation until they had some way of tackling it.

"Who were the people you saw?" Belle asked, startling them as she joined them, and Scarlett, who'd been hoping to bring back the sorcerer to the clearing, looked at his feet, clamping his mouth shut. The conversation ended abruptly.

"Who did you see in the mist?" she repeated into the silence, her back stiffening as she straightened to stand taller in order to command an answer. He must have felt her gaze burning on his face, because he wouldn't meet it as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"Robin," he answered her dejectedly after clearing his throat and some more shuffling. "Prince David, Snow White and others we didn't know. There was no telling how many more there were further back into the mist."

"More than fifty," she mumbled worriedly, her brow creasing, "I was with that group up until yesterday. Were Rumpelstiltskin or Baelfire with them?"

Scarlett hesitated before answering, looking at her as though he was trying to decide whether or not his response would upset her any more than the other woman whom he'd been speaking to about her husband.

Everyone she'd encountered in this castle since she'd woken up had been treating Belle like a delicate porcelain cup, but she supposed they had no way of knowing that she certainly wasn't afraid of a little chipping anymore after what she'd been through. Heaven knew, times had been rough all round. Still, she was holding her breath.

"I couldn't see either of them," the bowman finally returned, and she sighed.

"He would have helped them, if he could have…" she said, more to herself than the others, "something must have gone wrong," and made a beeline for the main entrance.

"Milady," Bertha called after her, and Scarlett stepped into her path, intent on holding her back. At that, she instinctively raised the hood of her cloak and swiftly changed direction as she vanished from sight. Experience had taught her that intuition always had your best interests at heart, and what hers was telling her right now, was that she'd do well to avoid an argument and be on her way.

She knew this castle and its secrets better than anyone else because she'd lived and breathed the very soul of it when she'd fallen in love with its master, and she didn't want to get these people in trouble – she was aware that Bertha had her instructions from a man who'd intimidate anyone with a single glance – but she had to get to that clearing in the woods and find out what was going on. The letter she'd left on the table by the window in Rumple's bedroom would explain that no one was to blame if Rumple was back before she was, for some reason, because she'd already made up her mind even to go before she'd opened the vault.

She quietly made her way to the kitchens, leaving the Merry Men bewildered and murmuring, and Bertha all kinds of distraught. There, she softly opened the door to the pantry just wide enough to slip inside. At the back of the gloomy, sizable, but narrow room, there were several large barrels underneath the sturdy shelves that had held countless jars, earthenware pots and crocks filled with fruit and vegetable preserves, pickled onions and cured meats back in her day. It was hardly stocked anymore now, and she realized that keeping all the people she's seen in and around the castle throughout the day fed under the given circumstances was going to be a problem shortly.

All these people Rumple had given shelter to… there must have been at least seventy of them, counting children, she thought, as she carefully pulled aside one of the vats to reveal what looked like a natural brick wall behind it. He'd be turning nothing into something to sustain them, and that would drain him, draw on his powers. All magic came with a price, and he would have to pay it. The fact that he was doing this proved what she'd known all along: there was so much more to him than what met the eye.

She knew which stone to press down on firmly to open the concealed entranceway to the tunnels that led beneath the inner courtyard and crouched down to do so. It hadn't been used in a while, and the opening in the false back wall took a moment to slide back, but she was relieved when it finally did so soundlessly. Minding her head and watching her feet on the narrow stairway that went deep into the earth, she cautiously stepped inside and felt around for the crystal that would light her way when she struck it, remembering the only time she'd ever used it.

_"Emergency exit," the sorcerer explained curtly, pulling her with him as he showed her the secret passage. "Never needed it before. But then again, I can just do _this_," and he vanished himself, giggling in his maddening high-pitched imp's voice. _

_Belle spun around just as the entrance was resealing itself, straining her eyes in search of him. She hated it when he did that; both the disappearing act and the teasing. She was pretty sure that he was still around, laughing at her somewhere close by._

_"So… are you going to tell me where this leads," she inquired boldly into the darkness, feigning collectedness and trying to keep her voice steady, "or am I going to have to find out if we should ever happen to be under siege?" _

_At that, he reappeared right in front of her, startling her and smirking as he handed her an enchanted white light crystal. _

_"Believe me," he reassured her, the golden flecks on his face glittering eerily in the magical light, "This is not the place anyone in their right minds would consider wanting to capture."_

The white crystal lit up in her hand, and she blinked, looking about. Turning to tug the barrel back in place before the entrance could close itself, she almost fell, but she was sure no one had heard as she left the castle.

XXXxxxXXX

An explosion shattered the silence, and the sorcerer knew that Regina's wards had failed.

"We have to get out of here," she breathed, realizing, and her eyes briefly wandered to Maleficent, who was still writhing on the floor, laboring with her bonds.

"We sure do," Red said, startling them with her sudden appearance from the other side of the cavern. "You could say the hounds of hell are gathering up there."

She cast a glance at the Fallen Fairy, and quirked an eyebrow at Bae, who pulled her into a quick embrace. Over his shoulder, her eyes lingered on Regina, narrowing at the sight of the Evil Queen, and she drew air.

"Do I want to know?" she asked him, and he was about to answer when Regina cut him off.

"I'll explain later," she hissed, "can we postpone the chitchat until then?" and the sorcerer heaved a sigh, pressing his lips to a thin line.

"You came in from the other side, from the palace," he directed at Red, ignoring Regina, and the shifter turned to face him. "Is it safe?"

"It is," she replied. "But there is something about half way there you need to see."

"We know about the portal," Bae told her, "and we need to get there before _she_ does," he added, pointing a finger up in direction of the Mill.

"What about her?" Red inquired, gesturing at Maleficent.

Taking note of the indecisive, hesitative way the sorcerer was staring at the fairy, unsure of what to do, Regina all but pushed him aside to get a clear shot.

"Let me take care of that," she sneered, all too enthusiastically lifting both hands to cast the spell she'd been contemplating over the last minutes. "This is for trying to use me," and her magic penetrated the web of fine threads holding Maleficent. The look of horror on the Fallen Fairy's face didn't touch the supposedly best friend she'd once had as the enchantment seeped through and shrank the older woman, discoloring and reshaping her painfully to become a pale, ugly little grotto olm.

"That's more like it," the Evil Queen chortled, more than satisfied with the result of her efforts at her feet.

The sorcerer grimaced disdainfully. "That _is_ cruel," he remarked, and she rolled her eyes at him as the olm scuttled off into the shadows.

"Let's just get the hell out of here."

She was already half way towards the exit of the cavern when a bluish mist began to creep across the rock floor ahead of the wolves that were pouring into the upper part of the tunnels at the Mill.

"Go," the sorcerer told Bae and Red, "I'll be right behind you," and he set about creating a barrier to shut off the cavern from the upper tunnels. It took him only a few minutes, but he thought that it might buy them enough time to get a decent head start, and perhaps a quick look at that portal.

XXXxxxXXX

Belle had briefly considered reemerging from the tunnel by way of the hidden door in the inner gatehouse near the portcullis, but she opted for the longer way underground leading to the outer wards instead. Although she was invisible, she thought it would be less likely to literally bump into anyone there, and it simply felt safer.

Keeping to the dirt track that took her across the swampy meadow and away from the castle towards the woods, she felt oddly displaced. It came back to her how heartbroken she'd been last time she'd turned her back on these walls, but that seemed a lifetime ago – it _was_ a lifetime ago.

The woods were unsettlingly quiet as she walked, holding a brisk pace. She'd never missed the white noise of civilization like the others had after returning, but this kind of silence was bearing down on her heavily, ringing in her ears with all of the empty space it left for thought.

She avoided the overgrown, marshy ravine that led to the village and stuck to higher ground, paralleling the old, winding road along the slope above it just within sight. Getting to the settlement took her over an hour, but she found that she wasn't as tired as she had been in the days before this. Her clothes were still dry, and she had the feeling that the dragonskin cloak had a little magic of its very own.

The forest had started to reclaim many of the huts and houses of Roundstone; saplings had taken root and were growing in the village square by the well, and ivy was creeping all over most of the simple structures. The winter storms of these past years had taken their toll on the less sturdy little hovels, and had collapsed roofs and unhinged doors, broken window frames and scattered the owners' belongings and furniture. Looking around in passing through, she discovered that there must have been scavenging, but not by ogres. The goats had been let out of their pens, mercifully, and she couldn't see a single sty or stable locked. Perhaps Robin's people had been here early on after Regina had cast the curse, or more people had been left behind by the curse than they'd suspected.

The fields beyond the village were barely recognizable as such anymore, for they, too, had been reclaimed by nature, and she thought that it would take years of hard work to make them productive again as she crossed into the beech forest that lay to the east of them. These old woods were already drained of light at this time of day, and she made haste, knowing that she didn't have far to go now; another two miles, at most.

She was almost there when she felt the earth shake, and she froze at the sound of the approaching ogre. Not daring to move, she waited for the towering monster to pass her by, and it did, but she hated the thought of bringing a sixty people through here with this thing around. She was afraid, even though she'd resolved not to be.

The sun was already sinking beneath the horizon when she found the clearing, and it took her a while to locate the men in the trees guarding it.

"Don't shoot," she yelled up at Alan Dale, who was sitting in the bare boughs of a horse chestnut, enfolded in a thick green blanket against the creeping cold with his bow at the ready. He was pale and confused, his glance darting about unsteadily.

"Who goes there?" he inquired firmly, dropping his blanket behind him, and she heard the soft rustling in the dead brown leaves of a beech some distance off, where Much was rising to his feet, his bow raised and trying to see what they were up against.

"Belle of Avonlea," she replied, hesitatingly adding, "and of the Dark Castle."

"Show yourself," Much demanded, and she pushed back the hood of her cloak. He looked down at her with wide eyes, and she smiled at him shyly.

"You should be dead," Alan said quietly, disbelievingly, and the smile faded from Belle's face. She could well picture what he'd seen of her the previous night, and she sensed his apprehension. He was, as all of them were, a simple man, driven from his home by one curse or another, and he was afraid of magic, because all he'd ever seen it do was turn good things bad. How many songs had the bard sung of the injustices done by his king, of lost or hopeless love in times like these, the evil that lurked behind every tree in these woods, kind hearts that gravitated towards darkness for the despair at losing hope, and Black Magic?

"I should be dead, yes," she replied, "but not all magic is dark. You live in my husband's castle, and you benefit from his protective magic every day. You'll see how much light he can bring back to this place. Let me prove it to you."

She turned away from him, relying on her gut feeling that was telling her neither of the two men would shoot anyone in the back, and took the vial from the inside pocket of her cloak. She didn't know how far she could safely go into the mist, but she ventured as far as she dared and uncorked the flagon, aware of the astringent odor that was filling her nose and invading her lungs. _What am I doing_, she thought, observing the fog lapping at her feet as though it was coming for her, meaning to devour her. To her amazement, she discovered that it couldn't harm her, though, and she gained confidence. It must be the vial, she told herself; this was why she'd been compelled to take it from the safe. There was no such thing as coincidence where magic was involved, especially Rumpelstiltskins.

Crouching down, she felt the small bottle come to life in her hand with the enchantment it was created to enact as she held it out in front of her on that same instinct that had told her to bring it here. It heated up to the point of almost making her want to drop it, but she held on to it, wrapping both hands around it determinedly, and the mist on the clearing began congealing momentarily, attaining an almost tangible texture. Forming ropes and sheets around the people standing in its midst, it began swirling towards the bottle's neck in thick curtains, where it was audibly sucked into the vessel as though there was a black hole inside it capable of ingesting infinite amounts of matter. The flagon cooled off to subzero temperatures and froze from the inside out as the vast white swaths disappeared into it, and Belle's fingers began sticking to it. Its weight stood in no proportion to its size, but still she struggled to hold on to it until the last of the fog was gone from the meadow.

David was the first to recover his awareness before the others began to stir, and he stumbled, almost falling over. She corked the vial, and Much was next to her instantly, helping her stand. David's first thought was of Snow, and he enfolded her in loving arms when he found her, while Robin swiftly closed the gap between himself and Belle as soon as he saw her. He stopped just short of her, incredulously staring into her eyes.

"Milady," he said, smiling warmly, and then forgot what he was going to say.

She returned his smile, and it widened when Snow joined them as the murmuring and chattering began behind her.

"Belle," Snow exclaimed, and threw her arms around Belle, hugging her fiercely, "I'm so, so glad you're alright."

"Where's Red?" Belle asked after a moment, glancing over her shoulder, and Snow's brow creased with worry.

"She's fine," Granny told them, placing a reassuring hand on Belle's arm, "she went with Rumpelstiltskin. They're going after the witch who did this."

Belle swallowed hard, grasping her arm. "And Bae?"

Granny smiled painfully, fixing her eyes to Belle's. "He'll be fine…" and then she hesitated, tightening her grip ever so slightly and leaning towards her so only she could hear, "just as the sorcerer's other child is, I see."

Belle breathed a sigh of relief, and wrapped her arms around the older woman. "I wasn't sure," she said, and Granny smiled.

Much was growing impatient. The light was waning, and the woods didn't get any less perilous at night than they were in the daytime. "Let's get out of here," he urged, and Charming nodded.

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_**Next up: a glimpse at the portal... **_


	16. The Portal

_**Sorry about the delay in updating this; it's been a strange few weeks here in Neverland...!**_

_**Thank you, as always, for your reviews and kind words of encouragement: Twyla Mercedes, woodland59 and cynicsquest.**_

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16. The Portal

"There is a counter piece to this one in the abandoned mines in Storybrooke," Regina began haltingly when they'd reached another cavern through the tunnels leading towards her palace. This one was brightly illuminated by a rich, golden glow emanating from the portal. "I swear I didn't know it was there at the time," she continued. "I stumbled across it when Henry fell down that shaft two years ago, but it wasn't working, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway."

The sorcerer's eyes wandered, his feet shuffling mechanically as they always did when he was searching his mind for cross-references as he took in his surroundings, layering realities of past and present. He tried to reconstruct and visualize the layout of all the underground shafts he knew in this realm, comparing them to his memories of the mines in Storybrooke, but he wasn't getting a clear picture because he hadn't spent much time underneath the town in the World Without Magic. There had been more pressing matters to attend to. He was sure he would have paid better attention if he'd known that there was something afoot.

He vanished the fireball he'd been holding; the luminosity from the magical gateway between worlds was overwhelming and made anything he could conjure superfluous. Its smooth, arch-shaped surface gleamed with the light of a new sun, and the walls around it glistened with the intense sparkle of the fairy dust used to power it. Fairy dust wasn't the only thing the portal was made of; there were other properties at work here, but he had, in all honesty, no idea which. There were certain processes his Darkness had never been able to set in motion, and he supposed that if he'd ever thought a fairy could mechanically build this kind of thing from _nothing_, he would have found a way to convince him or her to do so for him. It would have spared them all the insanity that had ensued. There was only one fairy he knew of who had a Talent for _opening_ portals, but they'd never led to the World Without Magic, and a quick survey of the clearing in the woods earlier had told him Jefferson wasn't here. He wondered about the identity of other fairy was who obviously had a Talent for _creating_ portals, and how he could have missed that.

"This must have been the first of both because it's older than the one in Storybrooke, but it wasn't working, either, when we got here," Regina continued as Bae joined them, straightening from the low, narrow rock corridor that had forced him to stoop the last part of the way. "A little bird told me a certain _Fairy Queen_ had been trying to get into the Shepherd Prince's good books while his wife was agonizing over my curse and half way into labor, but the council didn't think she could do it, and they were right. She couldn't. Not on her own."

"So Blue went to… _Maleficent_?" the sorcerer concluded. "But I don't understand – you'd already cast that enchantment on Maleficent, turning her into a dragon."

"Oh, Blue couldn't change her back," Regina explained, her voice carrying an air of her own natural arrogance. "Only the one who casts a spell like that can reverse it." As though he didn't know that. Regina had a way of school-mastering him that made him want to turn her into a toad.

"But she did manage to buy some time for the old dragon with some potion or other," she continued, trying to sound casually uninterested in the fact that there had been a means to temporarily tamper with her magic, "and Blue promised her she'd find leverage to make me reverse the spell in return for the name of a fairy that could help."

"And she did?" Bae inquired, earning himself a nasty look from the pits of the Evil Queen's soul. "Find _leverage_, I mean?"

"Obviously," she responded disdainfully.

"So… Blue created this," the sorcerer summarized, "and Maleficent found her the help she needed to finish it."

Regina nodded, and Red frowned as it dawned on her: "Neither Blue nor Tink were with us when we returned to the Forest," she informed them. "At least we didn't think so. I guess now we know what they were busy doing."

The sorcerer thought about this. He'd never quite figured out how Tink had ended up in Neverland after Blue had told her very clearly that she didn't fit into her concept. The Fairy Queen probably hadn't even guessed what Tink's real Talent had been – obviously, it hadn't been matchmaking. Part of Blue's problem was that she didn't _believe in fairies_, he smirked to himself, not really. She didn't see the potential in people (or other creatures), and didn't recognize strengths in the flawed. To her, _the flawed_ were _defective_, useless, and tainted, and she'd had no patience with any of that for all the long years he'd known her. Perhaps that was because she'd never loved, he thought, never learned that love itself was often flawed.

"So," Bae continued, "I wonder how Blue would have convinced Tink to help her – I know Tink, and she has her principles."

"Principles can quickly go stale when your heart's biggest desire becomes almost tangible again," Rumple answered. "If my guess here is correct, Blue personally exiled and alienated the flying nuisance, not knowing that she could have been her most helpful asset from the go – and she just didn't have the chance to bring her back from Neverland before the curse. When that little fairy did come back with us on the Jolly Roger, however, the tables turned, and don't tell me Tink didn't want her wings and her magic returned to her."

Bae couldn't argue with that. She'd made herself rare after their trip to Hell Island, and he hadn't talked to her much. He'd been too busy with his family and Pan to really see what had been going on with those two, maybe. Perhaps they all had.

"Now, the question is, does this portal really work and lead to Storybrooke?" the sorcerer mumbled, reaching out his hand to the light. He abruptly withdrew it, though, as if he'd burnt it. Bae was the only one to have observed the split-second of surprise on his father's face at that. He thought it strange, but didn't comment.

"Oh, it works alright," Regina assured him, turning to face him.

"And you know this _how_?" he demanded, rubbing his fingers and retreating from the gateway. It stung just to be this close to it, and he shuddered at the realization of what that had to mean for him. He wouldn't be going anywhere near it, much less _through_ it. All magic came with a price, and something told him he would never be returning to Storybrooke.

"I know that it works and leads to the World Without Magic because we sent someone through", the Evil Queen revealed darkly, her lips curving upwards in a sneer that bothered him immeasurably, but he was becoming more irritable by the minute anyway, so he refrained from lashing out at her and set about casting another protection spell in this part of the cave, while Bae stared at her agitatedly.

"Who did you send?" he inquired, but at that moment, the first of Morrigan's timbre wolves began pouring into the cavern, trapping them from both sides, penetrating the sorcerer's protective field at once.

Rumpelstiltskin began flinging blazing balls of energy at them, and Regina followed suite. For every one of the snarling, vicious creatures they killed and turned to ashes, two more seemed to emerge from the tunnels to replace them, and there were soon so many that the sorcerer began to think they were fighting apparitions of some sort, created to confuse and delay them. When the witch herself appeared, sickly pale green skin and a foul stench surrounding her, lingering in the musty air as though she was dragging a piece of her own death with her, she dispersed the fragments of the illusion she'd made them believe in, and he discovered that he was right. He loathed himself for falling for her trickery.

"What little it takes to frighten the fainthearted," she laughed, "I'd have thought you might have gotten better with the years."

Distracted as they all were by the presence of the hag, none of them noticed the tiny lizard bravely scuttling along on short little legs, heading towards the portal. They were all too busy looking in one direction to see what was going on behind their backs in the other, when the little creature entered the glowing gateway. Not even Blue and Tinkerbell, who were lurking in the shadows, hiding in a nook in the rock and straining to see, noticed.

The sorcerer didn't bother engaging in a conversation with their adversary. He had no idea what she was talking about, and no memory of ever having met her. He began pelting her with the same he'd given the wolves immediately in the hopes of keeping her at bay, while Regina silently contemplated her options.

"This would be the moment for some inside information," he yelled at her over the din of the echoing explosions when the witch began returning his fire with bolts of electrical charges.

She half-heartedly joined him in the fight, not counting on much success. If he was having a hard time holding his own against Morrigan's magic, then her active powers would not strike much of a blow. The sorcerer desperately tried to cast another, smaller but more concentrated protection spell to act as a force field around their little group, but he knew it wouldn't help them for long.

"She wanted me to summon you because there were rumors you'd regained your mortality," Regina told him in some well-aimed between blasts from the witch. "Is that true?"

He hesitated before answering, reciprocating Morrigan's efforts. "And if it was?" he returned, incensed, "What meaning could that possibly have for _her_, or any of this? _Do you or do you not know of a means to destroy her?_"

"You didn't really think you could end your own life with that dagger, did you?" Regina snorted in between flinging a boulder at the witch, and following up with pickax that had been lying on the rock floor close by. She missed by a mile and ignored his questioning of her present line of thought and sanity in this unfavorable situation. "The power of the Dark One can only be _taken_, not _surrendered_, you told me that yourself."

"I did," he returned, his patience with her fraying, and he almost pitched a fireball at her instead of at the witch. "But magic is unpredictable in any other world than our own, and there was a _prophesy, dearie_."

"Well, she wants the Dark One's power to be able to change the portal's form and destination once she gets through," Regina revealed, stopping her efforts. "She told me she wanted to bring dark magic to mankind on the other side and be able to go back and forth between realms."

"And why is it that _you're_ not _comfortable_ with that thought?" Bae asked snidely, keeping his head down and feeling quite helpless and inadequate in light of his father's struggle.

"_Because_…" she snapped at him, "Morrigan also said she could find _anyone, anywhere_. Including Henry – your _son_, remember? More _leverage_, and frankly, I'm tired of this game."

Behind them, Blue rose to her feet, stepping out of the shadows, and Tink followed her. "We have to destroy the gateway," she whispered to the younger fairy, a firm resolve in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Tink responded exasperatedly. "We worked so hard on this…"

Presently, Morrigan broke through the wards Rumple had cast, and a blue-glowing charge hit him, knocking him to the ground, although he was still fighting for their lives.

"See ya round," Regina breathed into his ear then, and made for the portal, not thinking twice about deserting the sinking ship. She didn't look back as she disappeared into the luminescence, leaving Bae just as stupefied as Red was. Only the sorcerer didn't seem to be astonished at her abandonment of them – he'd known his student all her life, after all, and he'd have deemed it quite out of character for her to stick around when things were looking this bleak. He might have done the same only a few months ago.

"Go after her," he yelled at Bae and Red urgently, repelling another of Morrigan's energy bolts as he got to his feet with some difficulty, smarting from the hit he'd taken.

The witch was gaining ever more ground on them, determination etched in the lines on her face as she began to collapse parts of the ceiling close to him. He deflected the falling rocks and hurled them at her, momentarily immobilizing her.

"Find Regina and put a stop to whatever she's up to," the sorcerer told his son and the shifter, "and then come back, son."

"What about you?" Bae replied reluctantly, uncertain of what to do.

"I can take care of this. You go," Rumple repeated adamantly, and Bae didn't know whether to believe him or not. "Find a way to keep her away from Henry."

Bae was torn, staring at his father intently and noting that he was bleeding from a wound to the head. The gash was superficial, but he'd never seen his father bleed, and he couldn't help but worry. If a man could bleed, then he could be killed, and Regina had been right: Rumpelstiltskin had changed. All the same, though, he clutched Red's hand and together, they made a run for it while Morrigan was freeing herself from the rock pile that had buried her beneath it. There was nothing he could do here, and he just wouldn't stand by and watch Regina mess up Emma and Henry's life all over again – there wasn't a doubt in his mind that this was exactly what she would do. The fact that his father was here at all now proved his extraordinary self-preservation instincts were intact, and he would certainly come through, somehow. He always did.

In a flash, Red and Bae were gone, and the sorcerer was glad. No more distractions, he thought to himself; they would be relatively safe – safer than here in any case – and he wouldn't have anyone to look out for but himself, so he could unleash the fury burning inside and concentrate his anger, releasing the monster.

Rumple's eyes turned black with rage as he felt the familiar tingle of his Darkness taking over, rising within him once again, locking down everything else inside as he began bombarding the recovering witch with everything he had. Suddenly, there was a piercing, high-pitched sound in his ears that felt as though it would shatter his brains; the sharp pain in his head brought him to his knees, and he tried to block it out, but he couldn't.

Blue, seeing that Morrigan had set her sights on the Dark One's dagger, which she was trying to extract from his belt unnoticed while he was writhing in agony, edged towards the portal with Tink her wake. Both of them were armed with two of the dwarves' worn old pickaxes. Neither fairy believed that Morrigan would try to kill the sorcerer with his own dagger, but Blue knew her well enough to fear that she would use it to control him. He was the only Dark One in all the dagger's history who'd never been controlled by anyone, and there had been times a-plenty when she'd cursed the fact, but now she hoped that he'd have the strength and the stubbornness to hang on to the damn thing.

It was all Rumple could do to stop Morrigan from levitating it out from his belt when he became aware that she was trying to steal it. Grabbing the hilt just before it could escape his reach, he managed to vanish himself from the spot he'd been in and reappeared a few paces behind his foe, gritting his teeth, a new fireball in his free hand. This unexpectedly gave her a clear view of the portal and the two fairies getting ready to strike at it with their axes. With a scream of anger, she focused all her attention on getting there before it was too late, and fled into the light just before the fairysteel edge of Blue's axe sank into the enchanted gateway, rupturing the particles' sequences it consisted of. The passage had already begun to flicker and flare, blazing like a dying star when Blue realized what had just happened and jumped in after Morrigan, determined to stop her, yet bound to fail. Tink hadn't been quick enough, and she was left behind.

The younger fairy watched in disbelief as the portal began to glow dangerously white as its meltdown started. She knew she had to get away from it and hurriedly changed into her six-inch fairy form to take flight a split second before it shattered in a massive explosion of a million miniscule, spraying shards that filled the air, glistening like silver snow, slowly and silently falling to the earth in the aftermath of this magic's destruction.

She could see the sorcerer trying to regain his feet, hear him bellowing in pain and despair when the microscopic remains of the gateway started searing and blistering his skin where his hands and face were exposed. He covered his head with his coat and stumbled towards the place where the portal had been while she hid in a crevice in the rock ceiling above, hugging herself and sobbing softly into her arms.

He told himself that he should have known better than to trust Regina. He'd let her deceive him because all she'd probably wanted was to be released from her cell and get a head start on the witch they'd just led to this place. He wondered if she even comprehended what she'd just done; she could have destroyed the portal herself when they'd gotten here, most probably, which would have been enough, but correlations and forward planning were definitely no fortitudes of hers. He'd let her get the better of him, yet again, and he hated himself for it.

Two things had been on Morrigan's agenda as far as he could tell: the portal and the dagger – in that order. She'd abandoned the dagger when she'd seen that Blue was destroying the portal, whatever _her_ motivation to do that had been, and she'd chosen to enter it even knowing that she wouldn't be coming back this way, or any other. There had to be some extremely enticing incentive behind this course of action, or she wouldn't have done what she had.

If this had anything to do with Henry, then he could only hope that Bae would find the boy before either Regina or she got to him. Or Blue, for that matter. Biting his lip until he could taste his own blood in his mouth, he thought that he should have tried very much harder to do away with the Fairy Queen _centuries_ ago. She'd caused him nothing but trouble, and she'd always had her fingers in _anything_ that had ever gone wrong for him, starting and ending with him losing Bae.

He was painfully aware that his son might never be able return to this world, and he had no way of finding out what would happen to either him or Henry, no chance of helping them if they needed him. They were up against someone even the Dark One might not be able to defeat, but he would have given anything to stand by them and try. They were on their own, and the probability that Blue had followed them to render them some selfless service or other was, to his mind, leaning towards _zero. _Bae wouldn't even know it if she caught up with him; she'd had everybody fooled for centuries, except for him. He'd eternally been gullible to a fault when it came to Regina, but he'd recognized the Darkness in Blue instantly even though it was so well concealed beneath that benevolent smile of hers. It took one to know one.

If he could only get his hands on Regina, he'd wrap them around her neck and watch her grovel while he slowly squeezed the life out of her for plain stupidity. Then, he'd find Blue and repeat the procedure.

Eventually, it occurred to him that there was still another fairy in the cavern somewhere, and he hectically began to scan his surroundings. The dust had finally settled at this stage, and he brushed the ashen remains of it off of himself, swearing under his breath at the hissing sound and biting sensation this caused. He needed to vent, to direct his rage at _something_, but he just couldn't find Tinkerbell.

"Where are you?" he roared, lighting up the cave with a viciously flaring fireball, searching for any sign of her. "Where are you, you flying nuisance? I'll pull you limb from limb!" but she'd pushed herself as far into the crack she was hiding in as she could, and she had no intention of coming out.

Blue had told her that they must protect the portal from Morrigan at all costs – even if it meant destroying it. Well, they _had_ destroyed it alright. But not before Morrigan had gone through, and the Fairy Queen had let Regina, Bae and Red pass into the other world without a warning.

That was one hell of an equation, the little Tinkerfae thought: four people from the Enchanted World plus one witch and one Fairy Queen one side, and the Dark One in all his frightening splendor on the other. The things that this had led to last time made her spine crawl.

They should have just taken their chances once they had gotten past Maleficent and Regina and tried to find the others, she thought, or destroyed it right away. But, she had so badly wanted to prove that she deserved to have her wings back... She hadn't followed her heart – she'd just blindly done what Blue had asked of her, and she knew now that this had been a terrible mistake. Tinkerbell waited for Rumple to cool off and stop his ranting and threatening before she dared to take another peek at him.

He was on his knees in front of what was left of the portal, and he was staring at the still glistening frame that had held it, raking his fingers through his hair time and again and muttering to himself. She wondered if he'd ever been quite right and doubted it, but then again, who was she to judge? She'd done her fair share of much the same in Neverland for decades.

When the sorcerer finally ran out of possible horrific scenarios to rifle through in his mind, he gave up and started the long walk towards Regina's palace dungeons, since he didn't want to go back to Cora's Mill. He thought he'd torch the place if he ever laid eyes on it again. He'd have to find _something_ to torch once he got out of here, but he believed it would be unwise to destroy the Mill in a fit of fury just yet.

When she was sure he was gone, Tinkerbell cautiously came down from her hiding place and looked about, taking in the full extent of the damage. There was no fixing this – or was there? She'd have to think about it. There was a reason why Blue had started building the portal down here; it was the magic that had been here already long before fairies had come to this world. Blue had said as much. She just had to find the nature of it and make it work again, just as she had before, she decided. She didn't need Blue, she could do this on her own.

* * *

_**Next up: of dreams and awakenings, and breaking curses in darkest of nights.**_


	17. A Flicker of Light

17. A Flicker of Light

It was long after midnight when the sorcerer returned to the Dark Castle. He desperately needed to come _home_, and he had to see Belle because she was the only one who could set his aching mind right for a little while. She was not only where he kept his heart, but she _was_ his heart, and she _was_ his sanity, whatever crazy land he found himself in, his _flicker of light_. Coming _home_ was coming to _Belle_ to find a better version of himself – the version she could create from the shambles he was in, and he needed to be close to her now like he'd never needed anything before.

He was beyond tired, and he realized that she would probably be sleeping at this hour. He would never wake her, but he would lie down beside her and watch her sleep; maybe even drift off for an hour or two, listening to her breathe evenly next to him, feeling her warmth. That was all he wanted, because he was chilled to the bone.

The air was clear and very cold as he stood by the tall, double winged entrance doors with their carvings depicting what a clever craftsman had once thought mankind's very first and very last moments would be like. His glance lingered on the work for a moment before he directed it up at the stars.

There were thousands of them, millions perhaps, and they were only visible here like this because there were no artificial lights to distract the eye; not in the sky and not on the ground. There were no electrical lamps to illuminate empty rooms, and there were no streetlights, blinking advertisements in shop windows, or flickering cell phone displays. There were no planes or helicopters, busses or cars constantly making a racket somewhere in the background, cluttering up everyone's thoughts, and he was glad, although the quiet Darkness of this world could be so much more profound and solemn than he would wish on a delicate soul such as Belle's must be at this moment.

He knew that he belonged here, but, witch and evil fairy aside, maybe it was better that Bae had returned to the World Without Magic to find his son, and he would have wanted for Belle to have had that choice, too, if he'd been able to stop Morrigan and Blue – but, he'd failed. He'd failed both Bae and Belle in every which way, and he had no one to blame for the Darkness that surrounded them but himself.

Most of the people in his castle were fast asleep, and that was just as well. Oddly enough, he could sense that the numbers within these walls had somehow greatly increased, and he thought about it for a second, wondering if Belle had something to do with that, but since there seemed to be nothing amiss, he had no intention of speaking to anyone about a census tonight.

He'd passed several armed guards of Robin's watchmen at the gates, and the men had mentioned nothing out of the ordinary as he'd approached them. He wanted to avoid thinking about any new predicament that any person he couldn't care less about might be in, and he didn't want to hear any questions that he couldn't find an answer to right now. Perhaps he might even be gone again before most of them would wake in the morning if things went very badly with the one person he _did_ want to talk to as soon as she was awake.

_If she would indeed still be speaking to him after all that had happened._

Not only had he failed her in Storybrooke, but he'd left her here alone without so much as an explanation after she'd almost been killed, and he'd failed her again by losing the portal Bae and her best friend had entered in pursuit of Regina – followed by Morrigan and Blue. How had he managed to mess up this badly?

_And how on earth was he going to explain that to her? _

Finally opening the heavy creaking door to slip inside, another thing hit him: Belle would be _seeing_ him consciously, really _looking_ at him for the very first time since the day he'd driven the dagger through his chest right in front of her and everyone else who'd been threatened by _his father_. She would not be prepared for the sight that would meet her eyes, the horrifying monster his Darkness had made of him again in this world.

Perhaps he wouldn't need to tell her what had transpired in the mines that day on top of that just yet, he thought, because he would have to begin to sort that out in his own head for a while before he could find the right words to. He might even find a solution to that problem, but unfortunately, he didn't have forever to do so anymore. He would not be able to take influence on Fate and storyboard this like last time, because he didn't have the kind of time he did then, the decades and centuries to figure this out and adjust the cogwheels. Deep down, he knew he couldn't really accept that, he'd just _have to_ find a way to help Bae and set things right, but for tonight, it was all he could do to keep it together, because he'd have to face Belle and show her what had become of the man she'd married, and he didn't know how she'd react. He owed her honesty, but at the same time he simply needed her to be on his side, selfish as this might be… yet again.

_Same story, different era. _

Would history just keep repeating itself over and over until Destiny finally grew tired of this game and tossed a wrench in the mechanism somewhere?

Ascending the grand main staircase that led to the second floor, he used his magic to light the torches mounted on the wall to his right one by one as he passed them, hoping to chase away the shadows that lurked, awaiting him, awaiting his Darkness to thrive on and make fun of him. His back bent, he wearily strode down the wide corridor until he'd reached his bedroom door. It took courage to place one hand on the knob, but he hesitated then, looking down at that hand and at himself, and he resisted the temptation to enter.

Belle would be there, lying in his bed between clean sheets, dreaming, and he felt like nothing but a filthy nightmare, both inside and out. The sickly discoloring of his face would betray his shame at having returned here only to start killing again – _enjoying_ the frenzied fury of it – to her at once. Even if the life he'd taken had only been that of an ogre, he was _covered_ in blood from head to toe; he always had been, and he always would be.

He was shivering with cold, his head hurt, and he could think of only one other place he'd want to go until he'd gathered himself sufficiently to be in the same room with her.

His dirty boots left muddy tracks on the finely woven red carpet that overlaid the floorboards as he walked to the end of the corridor, and he vanished them from his feet when he noticed before climbing the narrow spiral staircase to Belle's beautiful old library. He could feel her presence in these rooms even when she wasn't there, and he'd spent days and weeks here after he'd let her go, let her run straight into harm's evil clutches and Regina's dungeons. He knew what he'd put her through, and he was sure that he could never, _ever_ undo the damage, because he could not turn back time. Being back in this land, in this castle, had to make the memory of what he'd done to her come alive and mock her every day – just as it did him.

Carelessly, he flung his dusty coat onto the leather arm chair by the large fireplace and crouched down to gaze into the dying embers in the hearth for a second. This was the only place in the entire stronghold that had been completely ignored by the Merry Folk for the years of his absence, and there hadn't been a candleholder or a single book out of place when he'd returned, but someone had been here today. Perhaps she had.

He stripped off his waistcoat and his shirt, rolled them into a ball and pitched them into the ashes. Using his magic to incinerate them, he watched the heap of cloth burn as it caught fire. There was plenty of dry wood in the basket beside the mantlepiece, and he chose a few wedges to arrange on top of the smoldering rags, observing the flames rise, crackling and lapping at the blackened back panels of the hearth, casting dancing shadows well into the room. He welcomed the heat on his face, and his eyes stung, but this was a kind of warmth he could relate to – as opposed to the unhealthy central heating in the other world. Fires built from wood needed tending, and they were smelly, made the walls dusty and darkened the furniture, but they were _real_, he thought, letting himself be drawn into the goodness of its radiance for a few minutes before he conjured a wash basin filled with soapy water and a cloth.

He had his back to the winding staircase as he began scrubbing hectically at his hands and his arms, and he didn't register her coming and inhaling sharply before her first impression of him could settle. She needed a moment to calm down after she'd taken in the golden glitter of his hair and patchy gleam of the skin of his shoulders in the half light as he knelt quietly by the fire. It wasn't that she was shocked or repulsed by his appearance; it was the realization of what must have happened to him when he'd returned, and she felt a deeply for him, because she could guess what this must be doing to him.

His looks had never bothered her; there was so much more to him than this. He was the man she loved, and the fact that he was here tonight in the same place as she _amazed_ her. She wanted to call out his name and run to him, throw her arms around him and never let go of him ever again – but her feet were rooted to the ground and wouldn't budge, so she just stood there, staring at him. She watched him as he feverishly rubbed and scoured at the dirt and blood that had encrusted him, even after it was long washed away.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she accidentally stubbed her toe on the tin bucket of ashes by her foot. She'd forgotten to take it downstairs with her earlier that evening, when she'd cleaned out the fireplace and lit it after she'd gotten home with the others, and the noise it made echoed through the silent library like a clap of thunder.

The sorcerer heard, and he spun around, his eyes wide as she plucked up the courage to cross the floor, closing the distance between them. He didn't speak when she settled down next to him, and it took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep from touching her. He didn't know if she'd want that.

Finally, it was she who reached out to him and cupped his cheek in her hand, and he tentatively leant in to her caress, closing his eyes wordlessly.

"I've missed you _so much_," she whispered, and he couldn't for the life of him fathom how she put up with him, but he'd always known that she was made up of so much more than he'd expected when he'd first laid eyes on her so many years ago.

He remembered that hot summer day in the fields of Avonlea very clearly: the crops had failed for the fourth time in as many years, and rows of half-grown and crippled wheat and barley lay dying in the dust. There had been little hope of rain, and starvation was slowly claiming the weak and the old, as well as the very young of the desperate. His deal-making had brought him here to bargain with mothers and fathers who loved their children enough to send them away from this Death, and he'd struck many a good bargain when he'd come across the Lady of Avonlea by chance.

_The duke's exceptional daughter herself was surveying the damage in the company of her father's counselor and some soldiers, who were standing a little way back from her, looking bored. She wore leathers for riding, her hair was tied loosely back in a ponytail, and she was clutching a book with colored ink illustrations, a chart and a quill. The sorcerer thought that she was well prepared for the battle she was engaging in._

_He'd been watching her for over an hour, wondering what exactly she could be telling the counselor – he'd never seen a woman acting like her before. She was gesticulating wildly as she kept taking handfuls of dry soil and holding them under his nose after reading something to him from the book, showing him the pictograms to go with the information she derived from it. _

_The counselor, Rumpelstiltskin decided, was an arrogant ass, and he didn't have any manners whatsoever. He wasn't really listening to her at all; he was _picking his nose_ and smiling indulgingly at his liege lord's impudent daughter, while she tried to explain some correlations to him that he'd never understand. Having been ordered to watch her, he was only humoring her out of necessity, but he'd never give her credit for claiming to know things that he didn't. But, she was young, and not yet sufficiently adept to realize that she'd need to employ a different strategy if she wanted to draw his attention to the facts he'd need to see in order to help his people._

_The sorcerer himself had the feeling that she was anything but a child; she was beautiful and soft-spoken, and she carried herself with grace. Even from where he was, he felt as though he could lose himself in her summer sky blue eyes, and he loved her intractability for reasons he couldn't explain. _

_Moving closer so he could hear her better, he could see the sense in everything she was telling her father's advisor; she'd taught herself things about the geology and geography of these lands, the plants and the soil that most of the seasoned farmers here didn't know. _

_One of these things was that the earth beneath their feet was leached out by monotonous cropping and badly-managed fertilization. She'd _read_ up on that, and discovered that this could be remedied, in time. _

He could just imagine old Moe's consternation at the notion of his daughter _reading_, never mind a book like _that!_

_There had been several severe winters, hardly any rain in spring and none at all summer, and the seedlings that still stubbornly grew there didn't have a chance, she summarized for the counselor, who'd stopped picking his nose in favor of cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. _

_He patiently responded that a few soldiers – too old and weary for war, as Rumpelstiltskin well knew – had been paid by the duke to start working on an aqueduct, but she pointed out that the nearby rivers would never carry enough water to supply the fields, even if they could somehow manage to make the soil bring forth halfway decent and healthy plants again in the coming year._

_The next day, she was back with the duke's treasurer. They might have some success at direction enough water into the planned aqueduct by building a dam and with a reservoir further up in the mountains, she told him, pointing them out to him in the distant north, but he adamantly kept reiterating how he saw no sense in that without offering an explanation. _

_The sorcerer stood in the exact same spot he'd occupied the previous day, concealed within a cluster of hazel bushes in a small grove of oak and beech trees between the fields, and he watched Belle's face darken by the minute at her failure to convince. But, this man was even more determined _not_ listen to whatever she'd have to say than his brother had been before him. _

_Rumpelstiltskin not only _saw_, but _felt_ her outrage, and that was when he'd first become aware of her aura. There was something about the colors of it that fascinated him, but she had no magic – at least none that he could sense – and it made him doubt his instincts._

_He knew that the war raging on the borders of the east of the duke's lands was literally eating up what remained of the fiefdom's resources, so there would be no dam, whether or not she could at least stir the treasurer's imagination at the concept of it. Belle would _never_ make anyone at her father's court see the importance of her long-term thinking the head-on way she was going about it, not even in theory. The corrupted nobility had no interest in the common folk's troubles and was too blind to take note of the dependencies at work here. The people with influence on her father's actions had no background knowledge to draw on, and aside from that, it was common belief that a woman should be long married at Belle's age, and busy with a houseful of children rather than telling a man of standing what to do._

_Smiling to himself, the sorcerer wondered how far this young woman would be willing to go to for the sea of fools she was surrounded by… Did she really feel that she would ever be anything but Daddy's little princess around here? To any of them? They'd all rather go to their graves than use their brains – or put hers to use – and they would rather sell her to the highest bidder than put in an effort to save this seemingly hopeless situation. _

A thought worth considering, he mused.

_He'd heard of her engagement to a nobleman that was renowned for his ability to lose both great amounts of gold at card games and the occasional barroom brawl in the aftermath. But, Sir Gaston de Frimeur was a rather wealthy member of the duke's council by birthright, and that made him a good match for the duke's only daughter. _

_Rumple made a mental note then and there to prevent that somehow; perhaps a little fall, or an olive in the windpipe – or both._

_He'd begun to gain interest in Belle's inner workings and motivations, and the nature of this so very young woman's auspicious line of thinking. He was also willing to test her resilience. Maybe there was some deeper meaning to his having found her_ in this time, in this space.

Remembering this, Rumple exhaled and opened his eyes to meet his wife's gaze, retreating from her to give her a good look of what had become of Gabriel Gold.

Belle held his gaze with her heart wide open, and he could see that she wasn't judging him. She had made her decision _not_ to run from him, as she probably would have done if she'd encountered him like _this_ in the fields a lifetime ago without prior warning. She seemed to have known what she was getting into by the time she'd summoned him, however, and she'd always looked right _at_ the monster, always somehow managing to see the man within since then.

How did she _do_ that when he so often couldn't?

"I mourned you," she told him softly, waiting for him to say or do something. _Anything._

Her eyes were brimming with sadness now, and it was almost too much for him. If he'd ever guessed how much he'd come to love her that day in the fields, he might never have tampered with Fate, he might not have come when she'd called him.

A small voice in the back of his head told him that…

_… __love killed more people than any plague or natural catastrophe; it ruined more existences and cost more livelihoods than any war… _

and he tried to silence it, but it wouldn't go away.

He tilted his head and tried to evade her once more, but she took his hand in her own, and her touch sent a jolt through his body, stilling his inner turmoil. There they were again: all those colors that made up her aura…

"Rumple, I thought I'd lost you forever. I don't know how this all came to be, but I'm so, so very glad we're both here."

All at once, he was fearfully lost in the warmth of the fire and the sound of her gentle voice in his ear.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again – won't you _talk to me?"_ she went on tremulously, her voice breaking, and he didn't know how to handle himself anymore, because he was so longing to pull her into an embrace, to hold her and feel her body against his own… But he hesitated.

He couldn't bear the thought of having her in his arms only to let himself believe in a future with her again. She couldn't possibly grasp the implications of recommitting to him, and he had no right to ask that of her, because…

_Because he loved her._

Granted, she might want to be with him here tonight, before she'd thought about it. They were alone in the dark, and his Darkness was only between the two of them here. But how would she see him by day, when everyone else would be looking at the Dark One's _Lady?_ And what would her life be like in a month or in a year, even if he could restore some sort of order to their surroundings and place a king on the vacant throne – _if that little bit of magic was even within his power anymore_. He was not so sure the shepherd was really cut out to put an end to the chaos that was all around them, and even more improbable, the pure anarchy that was yet to erupt the moment all those frozen people in the Unending Forest were set free to socialize and be at each other's throats again. He could no longer plan very far ahead, and for that matter: how was he to even keep her safe, when he had now _twice_ managed to lose his son down some rabbit hole while standing right next to him?

He told himself that if he had sense, he would walk away and save them both a lifetime of sorrow and pain. But suddenly, he could no longer bring himself to – there was no way. It was just as undoable as going near the portal in the mines.

Finally giving in to himself, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, murmuring how sorry he was, how very sorry, and how much he loved her, begging her forgiveness.

He wished he could take away her burden by magic as he felt her clinging to him fiercely, burrowing into his chest, crying softly. Using magic on her to ease away the anguish wasn't an option, though. They had an understanding from back when she'd first come to this castle as his maid; he had, for some reason, put it in their contract, and he always kept his word. However, he would not add to the pain they were both in, even if it meant withholding something from her that she had every right to know – it was just for tonight, after all… he'd keep the truth to himself just for now, and he'd see more clearly in the morning what the future might hold.

"I love you, Belle," he repeated over and over again, and he could feel her muscles slowly relaxing.

Silently cradling her in his arms until the fire had almost died down, he couldn't think of a single thing more to say that would make any sense, so he kissed her tenderly. Irrationally, he felt as though she might be taken from him again at any time as she returned his attention, and this frightened him so much, he could hardly breathe when he moved his lips down her neck, firmly resolved to hold on to this night for as long as he could. It was hard to keep himself in check, gauging whether or not she deemed him presumptuous when he pushed her shawl back from her shoulders and let it drop behind her, but Belle responded to his touch exactly as she had to Gabriel Gold and fervently pressed her lips to his once more, exploring his hunger for her with her tongue. He was overwhelmed to find how much he needed her, and pulled her down onto the soft rug that covered the stone tiles beneath them, moving his hand up the warm skin of her thigh underneath her nightgown, stroking her, gently seeking her permission to go further.

She strained against him, helping him rid her of her undergarments and nightdress without letting his mouth leave hers, and she ran her hands down his sides before arching up against him to encourage him to turn on his back while she struggled with the laced fastening of his pants. Finding him unexpectedly compliant and suddenly somewhat unfocused, she opened her eyes and made a discovery that left her staring in amazement.

"Rumple?" she cried out, observing the change as it was happening. "Rumple!"

She took his face in her hands. He was conscious, but he had the look of someone who was miles, no _galaxies_ away, in a different world, dreaming vividly with his eyes open, unaware of her.

The sorcerer couldn't place what he was feeling – his skin tingled as a soft light engulfed him. A light breeze whispered through the library, turning the pages of a book left open on the small table near the stairwell.

He saw himself sitting on a blanket in the middle of a beautiful spring meadow, a flurry of cherry blossoms dancing on the wind all about him. It was warm, and he could see birds in the blue skies above. There was a new born baby in his arms, and he realized that this was not a memory, because the child he was holding wasn't Bae. His heart stopped when he saw Belle coming towards him, smiling at them both. Then, all at once, he caught his breath – and found himself back in reality, back in the library.

Belle was calling his name, shaking him gently and repeatedly asking him if he was alright. She was laughing and holding his hands up to his face to show them to him. Confused as he was for a second, he didn't know what she meant for him to see at first, but then he recognized what she was trying to tell him. He was looking at pale, beautiful _human_ hands with neatly-clipped, clean fingernails – the hands of a pawnbroker, not those of a monster.

True Love's Kiss had powers beyond even his belief in this land.

He laughed, as he resumed kissing her, and he didn't stop this time. Desperation and a longing for consolation or the simple need of warmth and light turned into a million things beyond that, and making love to the woman who'd lifted his curse was an act of faith, a revelation – a _renewal_.

Later that night, he fell asleep in a sated huddle with her. Wonderful, deep, dreamless sleep settled over him for _hours_, before a nightmare shook him awake and pulled him from her arms.

He couldn't feel the dagger's heavy presence bearing down on him anymore, and although it startled him, he was strangely relieved to discover that this great weight had been lifted from him. However, the very next thought that occurred to him drove him to rise in panic, and he frantically began searching his coat for the leather scabbard.

He found what he was looking for in an instant and pulled forth the blade. His eyes swiftly ran over its smooth, untarnished finish as he held it to the fading light of the fire, and his heart stopped; he would have given anything not to have seen the letters that had replaced those of his own name, and the full extent of what was now inscribed thereupon in tall, jagged script slowly sank in.

* * *

**The next part of this story is called ****_Raven_****, incase you'd like to find out what happens next. **

**_Raven_****is part 3 of this series of 4, and it tells the story of Bae's search for his son in the World Without Magic, and of the long winter that follows the return of the sorcerer to the Enchanted Forest, a battle for the Dark Castle and a winterdragon. It tells of a girl who has lived her life in this world over and over again because of a curse that was cast long before Rumpelstiltskin became the Dark One, and of the dagger's origins. The ending is a little sad, but the fourth and final part of this series, ****_The Hall of Mirrors_****, brings Light to the Darkness, in the end.**

**Thank you everybody who read this, reviewed, favorited and followed – I hope you will enjoy ****_Raven_****.**

**_EMH_**


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